Secrets Kept in the Half Light
by Cecil Salvatore
Summary: Noir Peter/Johnny When a strange woman turns up in Spider-Man's apartment claiming that scientists, Susan and Reed Richards, are not dead as the papers believe, he doesn't know what to think. Persuaded to take on the case, he finds himself tangled in a mystery that leads him to new places and back to old faces, all while unraveling the enigma that is "Johanna Robertson" herself.


A/N:This story takes place in the '_Spider-Man Noir_' universe of the comics, but it isn't necessary to have read them to understand the plot. I hope you enjoy the story, and thank you for giving it a chance. 💖

* * *

A common thread of thought amongst those in the backwater end of private investigation (_ though wasn't that all private investigation? _) was that trouble always began with a woman. Having been in the business for a measure of years now, Detective Peter Parker wasn't sure whether he was inclined to agree; his troubles had begun with a murder.

Nevertheless, as he stood in the doorway of his dingy office, attempting to recollect his wits before he started bumping gums, he couldn't help but be reminded of that age old sentiment.

The Woman, silhouetted by the dim blinkered light from his dusty windowpane, was a series of enigmas from head to toe, the most pressing of which being her presence there to begin with. There wasn't anywhere that she could have gotten in through- he had made sure of that when he'd first occupied the place- yet there she was, the very picture of mystique and jarring sang-froid.

As he approached her, equal parts curious and cautious, her composure stayed unchanged, lost in thought and oblivious to his reappearance. Good. That gave him time to weigh his options.

Of the many boons that had been gifted to him during his fateful encounter with the Spider, he found the most advantageous of them all to be his Instinct. It had protected him, countless times, from perils lurking just out of sight by warning him of incoming harm that would have otherwise rendered him slain. He had come to trust it, become dependent on it, but he knew of its foibles, still. So, when there was no blaring siren nor burning panic, he maintained his guard, taking light, soundless steps and studying her unguarded form while he still could.

There was little he could make of her from beneath her wide brimmed cartwheel, the stitched on gossamer netting falling over soft golden curls that disguised her eyes and cheeks. Even in the murky glow of the street lights below, he could tell she was nervous. Her dress was arranged to conceal, a long button up coat whose only shape came in the narrow tuck of her waist and whose collar was drawn as high as it would go. Though she hadn't tried to hide from him, it was obvious that she gained no pleasure from being observed. It was only polite for him to respect her wishes.

"I'm not often one for clichés," he began, easily dodging the startled sweep of her arm, "but sometimes it's nice to honour tradition."

He settled himself on the edge of his paper strewn desk and tilted his chin upward, slivers of light flashing across his shadowy lenses. "So I have to ask: What's a nice looking girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Her lips, full and painted a distracting coquelicot- _not the time _-, were parted in a soft gasp, the thumbnail she had been worrying turned to face him, marred in red. He could see her eyes now, bright and blue and lidded with lashes that looked like they were spun from the sun.

Inexplicably, Peter was reminded of the Hudson on a clear spring day, wide, deep, and untainted by the filth that permeated the city.

"I didn't hear you come in," she blurted by way of answer, her low silken voice surprising him. It was... heavier than he'd expected, though made arid in her surprise, and lilted with an accent he wasn't accustomed to hearing in this part of town. A socialite broad in Spider-Man's cave. How the neighbours would talk.

"Well, I didn't see you come in, so I s'pose that makes us even."

She had the grace to look abashed.

None too subtly, he began examining the reports and articles thrown haphazardly over the tabletop, eyebrows lifting when he realized that everything was precisely where he'd left it. Across from him, the Woman secured her coat around her and arched her brow defiantly, daring him to suspect her.

"How'd you get in here?"

Anyone who had managed to find this place, connect it to Spider-Man, and then break in without so much as a hair's disturbance wasn't likely to give away their secret on demand, but it helped him gage character. He'd decided that she wasn't a threat to him- anyone who was wouldn't have been thrown so easily- but, that still left puzzles owing to her present occupancy.

As he'd expected, the Woman simply shrugged in response, walking past the window with a practised ease.

"I'm a lady of many talents, none of which I'm here to discuss."

She stopped in front of him, chin dipped so she could look him straight in the eye, her gaze burning with mulish intensity.

"I'm here to offer you a case."

Dawn was already beginning to break outside, casting the derelict grey walls in cool hues of blue, when the detective and his client finally sat down to discuss her proposition. It had taken some searching, but Parker had eventually managed to scour some candles that weren't completely burnt to their wick - _Reminder: Buy more candles _\- so they didn't have to fumble their way through the tenebrosity. She had provided the light.

"I should probably tell you that I don't usually take personal cases. I'm no house peeper."

Her fingers paused in the railway around her hat; halfway through their expedition, she'd taken it off to keep it from interfering with her movements.

Bathed in the amber firelight and without a net to obscure her face, Parker could see that she was really quite an attractive sort of woman. She wasn't pretty or glamorous like the broads he knew from the Bugle, or wished he'd known from the screens, but there was something about her that was plain mesmerising.

Perhaps it was the slant in her slightly thicker-than-fashionable eyebrows, or the sharply defined edges of her cheekbones, but Peter thought it might have been her eyes. He would've liked to photograph those eyes someday.

She pushed her short blonde waves away from her face, guiding them so they curled gently by the half of her cheek. Reaching down to her bag, she pulled out her purse and drew forth a folded cut-out from the Bugle. If nothing else, at least she knew where to find her stories.

Flattening the sheet out between them with almost venomous intent, she flicked her nail down to the title.

"Have you seen this?"

Behind his mask, Spider-Man grimaced.

**_'FREAK ACCIDENT KILLS RENOWNED SCIENTISTS'_**

The incident was barely two weeks old today. Peter Parker hadn't been assigned to cover the story, but he'd mourned the nation's loss like, he hoped, everyone else had.

Dr. Richards, both of them, had been heroes of the modern world, heading advances in fields of chemistry, physics, and bioengineering. It had been a long standing dream of his to meet them someday, but it looked like he'd have to settle with honouring their memory instead. He gave her a clipped nod.

"Yes, terrible shame what happened. Dr. Reed and Susan Richards were geniuses."

"Are," she corrects, her lips compressing as she eyed him carefully. "They're still alive. I'm sure of it."

Spider-Man didn't allow her bold claim to openly bother him, tapping the top of his Trilby nonchalantly as he considered her. "There was a funeral."

"Yes, a rushed funeral barely a day after their supposed deaths. Doesn't that strike you as strange? They didn't even contact Sue's brother."

"I wasn't aware Dr. Susan had a brother."

She blinked at him, her elbows cocked closer to her hip as she stared, incredulous. "Johnny Storm? The movie star?"

The name sounded vaguely familiar. He thought he might have seen a few films with the man in it, but he wouldn't have thought it to be a household name. Judging by the way the Woman was scrutinising him, however, it was probably just another case of Parker being out of touch with any matter that wasn't science or organised crime. Or both.

He shrugged his shoulders unapologetically and she huffed in exasperation.

"He's more popular in England, anyway. But this isn't about Johnny. No one close to the family was telephoned. Not even for the funeral."

Spider-Man sighed and stretched out his arms. By the sound of things, this was just another hysterical friend, unwilling to come to terms with death, and, while he did feel for her, it wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence. There was an emphasis in the city to keep diseases from spreading that vastly repudiated providing closure for those left behind. The only reason the Richardses had even been buried instead of simply being dumped into a prairie somewhere was because they were well known figures of the public.

"So that's your case, then? The Richardses weren't left out to rot for a couple more days, so the only possible conclusion is that they're still alive? Make tracks, lady, you're wasting my time and yours."

She sat up a little straighter, the rickety chair creaking underneath her. Her eyes grew wide and pleading, though touched with a kind of annoyance that sparked at the edges.

"It's not just that. I... I can't tell you how I know, but they were taken that night. Before the coppers came."

Spider-Man stilled, watching the way her eyes dropped to the fingers twisting themselves together in her lap. Her shoulders rounded as her body resisted the urge to curl up.

"I saw them. Their bodies. They looked... They didn't look badly burned."

A silence descended as he gave her time to recollect herself, and he let her shoulders ease back into her sure stance before pressing for details.

"I suppose it's too much to expect you have proof?"

"Nothing except my word."

"Why not go to the coppers with this? Or an actual flatfoot? Why come to me?"

White teeth bit down softly on a petal of red, distracting him for a second before his capricious good sense knocked him the right side up. She was a client, and he knew all too well the dangers of cocktailing his personal life with his professional. Besides, Spider-Man didn't have a private life. Not anymore.

"Aside from the fact that they don't believe me, you mean?"

He was half tempted to tell her he didn't believe her either, but he let her continue without interruption.

"I want to help."

Immediately, Spider-Man found himself shaking his head, and she bristled in turn.

"I don't do partners-"

"What about the man from the Bugle? The one who photographs all your stories?"

He leapt up before he could think the better of it, marching to the her side in rage.

"Is this your game, kitten? Break into my office and bring up my associates to do what? Bleed me dry?"

Eyes turning steely, the Woman stood to her full height, and he was struck by how tall she actually was. In her half inch heels she imposed a breath higher than he, and had to glower downward to glare straight into his eyes.

"Bleed you?" She demanded with a harsh laugh, "Of what, your half dollar lenses?"

A flicker of guilt crossed her face the moment the words were out, but it was gone as soon as it arrived, shaken away with tresses of gold.

"I don't want to force your hand, Mr... Spider-Man." Her cheeks coloured faintly. "But you have to understand what this means to me before you decide to turn me away."

Her gaze broke from his as her arms came to wrap, almost of their own accord, around herself, her brows dipped low.

"Sue was... She meant everything to me. I don't have anybody else."

Bending absentmindedly to pick up her fallen hat and set it on her seat, she looked to him once again. There was a hardness to her countenance, a determination that was frightful and familiar all at once

"Even if I am wrong, even if they really are dead. I want to know what happened. It would kill me if I didn't."

He stared into her oceans of blue, at the layer of ice that clouded her sight and sharpened her spirit. When he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd mistaken her fervour for optimism and naivete. He could see now that he'd been wrong.

She was fiercely unshakable, filled with the sort of desperate tenacity that got girls like her killed in cities like these. It was the same sort of stubbornness that had almost gotten his aunt killed.

And the same sort of heat that had given him the powers to stop it.

Moving away, he pushed his hat back onto his head. Light was waking the whole city, both coppers and crooks, and neither of them should've stayed here much longer.

"If I were to turn you away, what would you do?"

He knew the answer, of course. It was what he would've- _had- _done when ill had befallen the people he loved. He could still taste the bitter smoke of gunpowder when he swallowed.

"Anything I could. And everything I couldn't."

The sound of his heel scuffing against the effete concrete echoed through the silence as he turned to face her once more.

"You can pay?"

"Enough to buy out this entire building."

He scoffed dryly, his mask creasing.

"Lady, that's not saying much at all."

She pulled a wad of fifties from her purse. "I can pay."

Not much point trying to reason himself out of it, then. He probably would've agreed even if she couldn't, but there was a lot less of a chance he was gonna talk himself out of it now he knew she could. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his thigh in time with his footfalls as he began pacing between the chairs.

"You want a part. What can you do?"

That made her smile, head lifting in pride.

"Don't you want to know how I found you in the first place?"

"Figured it was one of your 'many talents'."

"It is. I have a car, and I'm damn good at driving it, too."

He hummed at that, his foot coming to rest at the corner where the wall met the floor. Spider-Man didn't need a chauffeur, but there were occasions when it could come in handy, particularly when he'd lost more blood than he cared for and was on the run from the lam.

Cars were expensive, and all of them were accredited to their owners. Nobody would suspect a vehicle belonging to a woman to be Spider-Man's getaway ship, and Peter Parker could use the regular methods of speedy transportation, too. His head tilted to look at her, his feet moving smoothly up the wall.

"You understand that you'll be paying for the process not the results. I'm no shaman; if they're dead, I can't bring them back to life."

She was following him with her eyes, completely unperturbed by his display of ability.

"Of course, I know that. Are you taking it or not?"

He leapt down from the ceiling, right in front of her. She didn't even blink.

"What's your name?"

"Joh-anna. Johanna Robertson."

Judging from the glottal stop, it was a fake name. Surprisingly, Spider-Man found he didn't care. He lifted his hand to slip her five, the green crinkling between their fingers.

"Well, then, Miss Robertson. It's good to be doing business with you."

She didn't move at first, her body going still in surprise and doubt. Then, all hope and ardent gratitude, she threw an arm around his neck, and Peter felt his breath stutter.

"Thank you," she whispered right by his ear, and all he could think was that he was glad for all the layers separating them.

He watched her go from the window in secret, turning away once her car had disappeared through the heavy fog like a bride behind a veil. It was only then, looking down to the scrap of paper scribbled with her address and dial number, did he noticed the thin layer of soot darkening his windowsill.

~0~

Couple of miles away from the abandoned dock, in a small apartment hidden in the middling suburbs of the city, Johanna Robertson was just returning home. Her room was barren and plain, looking like she hadn't finished unpacking. She knew that she'd be out of there sooner than she'd had a chance to live in it.

Hanging her coat on the hook of the door and allowing her hat to twirl down gracefully, she made her way to the equally stark bathroom, where water soaked her skin until the faint freckles peppered over it could be seen again. Satisfied, she reached up and, in a single fluid move, pulled away the curly gold tresses of her wig. When she looked in the mirror again, the face of Jonathan Storm looked back.

In his sectioned off bedroom, Johnny collapsed over the threadbare mattress, eyes leaden with exhaustion. Before he clicked his lamp off, he turned his head to the shiny wooden frame seated on the table next to him. A photograph of two laughing, bright eyed children, one girl and one boy, grinned wide as they posed for their very first picture, arms wrapped firmly around each other. Smiling wearily, Johnny pressed his fingers to his lips and touched it to the girl's rosy cheek.

"Good night, Sue. I'll see you in the morning."

~0~

The daytime hours were not for Spider-Man's work, but that didn't mean a thing to Bugle photographer and reporter, Peter Parker. He stopped by Johanna's address on his way to his morning job, taking in the cracking plaster and the blackout curtains suffocating the glass; a relic from the Great War, kept either out of frugality, laziness, or paranoia.

He took a cursory survey of the streets surrounding Magnolia Parks Apartments, and wondered at the anomaly that Johanna Robertson was amongst all the caustic and overworked men, a socialite diamond in the rough. Now, what was an upper class girl with an accent and money like hers doing holed away in a place like this?

The question followed him as he swung to the office, and stayed even as he gave his daily photos to Miss Brant, a lovely gal who often dealt with more than she was paid to. She'd tried making conversation with him the entire day (strange how normal that was), but gave up after her riveting tale of getting engaged to a highwayman from the future failed to break his reverie.

After the Depression hit, there weren't many who could boast the confident of affluency, or even comfort, like Miss Robertson had. He'd assumed she'd had old money at her disposal, a generous, perchance deceased, father or grandmother who funded her, but that didn't quite add up with her roughed up, surreptitious shanty. Neither did the thought that she might work at another night job that involved discreetly slipping in and out of houses that weren't hers. Even demitasses knew better than to stay in places like those by their lonesome; but, then again, no regular demitasse could afford a car.

That was another thing that he'd suddenly been aware of. He hadn't seen her tin can that morning. Sure, she might have stepped out, but he couldn't help but wonder if she'd parked it out of sight from the apartment on purpose. Recollecting her shrouded appearance from the night before, he mulled over the possibility that she might have been hiding from someone. Someone whom she'd hurt and was looking to hurt her in return.

He wondered how dirty her money really was.

With his quota for the day complete, and no answers to be found anywhere in the Bugle, Peter set off for the one place that could serve him the truth: Captain Stacy's roadhouse.

Stacy had been appointed the city's head fuzzy a month after Spider-Man's patrol had begun; but whatever hope the blue collared crooks he'd worked with had that he'd be out to get New York's latest P.I. was quickly shot down.

Captain Stacy knew that streets as filthy as the ones they protected needed cleaning from someone outside of the law at times, and, on a night unlike any other, he'd privately approved Spider-Man's work to his face. After working several cases together, including one where Peter had saved his young daughter's life and inevitably revealed his identity to him, they were unshakable in their faith for one another. That was why, when reporter Peter Parker called on him in the middle of the day, clambering through his office window like it was the most natural thing in the world, Captain Stacy obliged.

His visit to Stacy's place was brief that day, opting to simply provide him with Miss Robertson's name and request for files surrounding the Richardses' accident. Her name didn't ring any bells to the man, but it was a perfunctory sort of act; he didn't think the good Captain would find anything on her but it never hurt to try. Thanking him for his help, Peter informed him that Spider-Man would be back to collect it later in the evening, from their usual place.

Now that that was out of the way, he straightened his clothes, pulled his collar up against the buffeting winds, and set off to reintroduce himself to Miss Robertson. This time, without the mask.

~0~

Magnolia Parks, surprisingly, wasn't too shabby on the inside. It was dark, sure, and the yellowing spots on the ceiling told of untended plumbing, but the place was relatively neat and the heating didn't blink, so there was that.

There wasn't an attendee sitting at the registry, probably why the telephone had gone unanswered when he'd called in, nor were there any tenants mulling about in the hall on the way up to room 4-3. If it weren't for the whispers of voices and slivers of light that seeped out of a couple of locked doors, Peter would've thought the place was deserted. A curious choice for any usual New Yorker, but ideal if you weren't interested in being seen.

Miss Robertson didn't immediately come to the door when he rang, and it was only at the second attempt that Peter heard sudden frenetic scuffling from within.

"Just a second!" Said her familiar muffled voice, sharper now in its clarity, followed by a cacophony of noise and what sounded suspiciously like a swear. He was about to tell her that she could take her time, when the door was wrenched aside, and he quite forgot how to say anything at all.

Johanna was breathless as she leaned against the creaking door frame, her gentle waves thrown askew and lipstick so hastily applied it, smeared at the corner of her parted lips. She had a scarf wrapped tight around her neck, and Peter briefly wondered whether she was always cold.

Away from the obscurity of his slipshod hideout and entranced in radiant daylight, she looked like she'd stepped out of a dream; golden and scintillating all over like a daytime firefly.

He didn't even realise he'd been staring until she cleared her throat delicately, eyebrow arching as a hand found its way to her hip.

"Is there anything I can... help you with?"

She sounded a touch amused, and something mischievous sparkled in her eye. Peter instantly coloured and made a fumbling gesture with his hands, pointing to the corner of his mouth and falling over his words as Miss Robertson grew increasingly humoured.

"I'm, um. Sorry, yes, I- I'm Peter Parker. We have a mutual friend. You have a bit of..."

Laughing a little, she ushered him inside, shutting the door smoothly behind him.

"The Bugle photographer, right? He mentioned you'd be in touch."

She walked briskly to her bathroom, mumbling for him to make himself comfortable and excuse the mess. In Peter's private opinion, though that there wasn't much of anything to make a mess of.

He took a quick glance around the room. It wasn't fully furnished, but there weren't any boxes around, either. Barely any of her possessions spoke of her life or family, and he found his gaze being pulled to the ajar curtain partitioning the room into two.

He could see a messily made bed with dark sheets and a banal wooden bedside table that had an indistinct frame atop it. As his gaze fell on a few compromising articles of clothing strewn over the duvet, he hurriedly averted his eye, listening to her movements in the other room.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting you today. Send me a dial-ya-ble next time."

Reemerging into the living room, Johanna dropped herself into the seat opposite his, long legs crossing over one another as she leaned forward. She was wearing trousers today- thinking about it, she might have been last night, too- and a loose fitting blouse that called attention to her slender limbs. Her arms were sinewy, bound in lithe muscle unusual for a woman, but shapely and attractive regardless.

"I did, but there wasn't anyone to answer it."

Johanna sighed and rolled her eyes, then cast him an apologetic smile.

"I wasn't actually informed how you'd be part of this, Mr. Parker."

Wetting his lips, Peter, with forced nonchalance, lifted his shoulders. It would be the first time he'd have to explain Peter Parker's involvement in Spider-Man's work, but, if Johanna was to be working with the decorated watchdog, then it was necessary. He just hoped she didn't think too much of it.

"Well, while you'll be working with our mutual friend in the nighttime, there's still plenty of leg work that needs to be done, first." His hands clapped together as he came to mimic her position, an amicable smile in place, "So I'll look into that and pass anything I find on to Spider-Man. What did you plan to do next, if I might ask?"

Johanna's pretty blue eyes came to rest on his with gravity, and Peter felt himself stiffen on instinct.

"I'm going to dig up Sue's grave."

There was a sickening crack as his body jackknifed, a lashing of pain shooting through his hip.

"What?!" He sputtered, knocking his fist against his bone as he blinked away reflexive tears. "Why on Earth would you do that? I thought you two were friends!"

Johanna sighed and crossed her arms loftily. "I need proof of what I saw that night." She cocked her head and wrist, delicate fingers outstretched like she was an announcer on the television. "What better evidence would there be than if her body wasn't there?"

He had to admit that she had a point, but shovelling dirt in the middle of the night was the sort of thing Spider-Man did; and, that too, avoided as thoroughly as he could. To hear her speak of it so easily was... unnerving, and, quite frankly, threw into question the soundness of her mind.

Peter forced a frustrated breath past his clenched teeth and threw his hands into the air emphatically.

"Miss Robertson, that's insane. You can't start robbing graves on a whim like that- it's illegal!"

She tutted, holding a poised finger to her lip. "Not if there isn't a grave to rob."

"You mean if there isn't a body."

"Ah, so you agree with me."

He swivelled a glare at her sparking simper, clever and triumphant as she sat back and tapped a quick _rat-a-tat _on the floor with her heels. A quieter part of him, forced insistently to the recesses of his cluttered consciousness, had a delighted, surprised laugh at her unexpected wit, but he was quick to bury it. Here was a woman fully prepared to commit a crime; it was no time to admire any part of her!

"This isn't the time for joking, Miss Robertson."

He stood, sticking his hands into his pockets and pacing, troubled, up and down. He missed the way her brows drew together as her mouth slipped into a thin straight line.

Standing herself, she strode to his front, her hands coming to grip at the curves of his elbows. Her touch was warm, distractingly so.

"I'm not joking, Peter. I understand if you don't agree with it, and I'm not asking you to help me." She skittered her line of sight sideways. "I was expecting Spider-Man, too."

He groaned, pulling away from her to run his fingers askew through his hair. At least she knew better than to do it in broad daylight.

"All right, then. Fine. I suppose that's his problem, then." One of these days, Spider-Man was going to murder Peter Parker. "For now, why don't you run me by what exactly it was you saw that night?"

The bright mirth Miss Robertson had been displaying quickly sobered, and she returned to her seat with small steps, Peter following after her until his hip came to rest by the upholstered headrest. He folded his arms and waited, head dipping towards her, for her to begin.

"I don't remember much of what happened before, but I think it'd been a good sort of day." She smiled, tight and weathered all of a sudden, pricked like a balloon. "Funny how everything else seems to become unimportant in the face of tragedy."

That Peter understood. After he'd seen the body of Uncle Ben, it had taken him years to remember what his life before that had even been comprised of. Little less than a decade's worth of idyllic dreams and hope all tossed into disarray by one devastating moment.

He moved to sit closer to her.

"Sue had been excited about something. I don't remember what, but it was something to do with her work. I never really did understand anything about it."

"Sorry," his hand reached out, though refrained from touching her, "How did you come to meet Mrs Richards, please?"

She blinked, startled, as if just recalling that she'd never explained their apparently inseparable camaraderie. Peter's brows knitted, but he quickly smoothed his expression over.

"Oh. Yes." Her hands drew together, fingers intertwining as she wove her thoughts, or, perhaps, her story together. That was fine, too. There was always some truth in the most convincing of tales.

"I suppose it began in England." She turned to him, blue meeting brown.

"Sue had been studying there. It's also where she met Reed. I used to work as a mechanic's assistant at the university and Reed used to come by to ask for my help with a couple of his engineering experiments."

Peter arched an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "Reed Richards came to you for help? You must be good."

Her smile was indulgent, a touch sardonic. "I'm decent, but it's probably just because I was the only one who allowed him to tinker around with the machines." She rested her chin on her propped up palms, knees lifting so they were pulled to her chest.

"But, that's how I met Sue and Reed. Sue wasn't too involved in mechanical engineering, but she would always come along. We used to talk a lot once Reed disappeared into his own little world."

Johanna's eyes relaxed, crinkling at the corner as her small smile turned fond and faraway. She stretched her arms out in front of her with a quiet sigh, cocking her head so she was looking at him.

"After she graduated, Reed wanted to return to America and Sue wanted to go with him. So they got married."

Peter's expression grew owlish, and she tossed her head back in a short laugh.

"Yeah, it was quite the shock. All the more so when they offered to take me along with them. I didn't really have anything for me in England, so I agreed, and that's how we ended up here."

Expression darkening, she tightened her hold around her knees. "Maybe it'd have been better if we'd stayed."

After a couple of seconds of silence- fruitless contemplation of how much simpler life could have been- Johanna cleared her throat and continued.

"I used to work on cars, and machines, and that sort of thing based on Reed's designs, but, after what happened, I just couldn't go back, y'know?"

She dropped her knees, returning them to their prim diagonal slant, side-by-side, and rearranged her scarf. "Back to where I was?"

He nodded. He did have more questions regarding their history, queries to confirm her story, but they could wait for now. So far, her tale had added up. Being an enthusiast of Reed Richards from his early adolescence through his young adulthood, Peter was fully aware of the doctor's temporary station at the University of Edinburgh. His personal life, however, had been something young Peter Parker had neglected to account for, so hearing of his eccentricities and spontaneity was a rare treat, if not cause for mild envy. If her tale continued to ring the surreptitious bell of truth, then perhaps, one day, he could affirm the doctor's character for himself. If not... Well, then, there seemed little to be envious about.

Johanna cleared her throat, and lifted her hands to her chin as she continued to speak.

"Sue and Reed had a habit of bringing their work home. They had a small lab there, you see, and plenty of discoveries had taken place after working hours, but they never brought anything potentially dangerous back. They knew better than to take the risk. So, when Sue said that she'd be returning home to continue with her tests before dinner, I didn't think much of it."

She dropped her palms into her lap like discarded letters, her expression turning dour.

"They left early that night because it was Sue and Reed's anniversary of working together. If it were up to them, they wouldn't have done anything special, but I convinced them that it was cause for celebration so we were all going to have dinner together. Sue was cooking."

Straightening, Johanna gave a brief laugh and Peter frowned at the hollow sound it made in the musky atmosphere, hardly stirring the dust motes. "She wasn't all that good, really, but we were all too kind to say so. I arrived in their neighbourhood about ten minutes to six and that's when I saw it."

Her gaze lifted to bore into his, urgent and filled with the desperate desire to be believed. He realised then that she had gone to others before Spider-Man, had known the bitter sting of mockery and rejection before need, or something else, propelled her to find him. Peter leaned closer, hanging onto her next words with analytic keenness, like a bloodhound on a scent.

"At first, I'd thought it to be fireworks because of all the smoke. Then I saw that it was coming from their home, and there was fire, and I just-"

Her breath caught, and she had to pause. Her eyes clenched shut for a second, seeing murals of smoke and brimstone that Peter could hardly imagine. When she continued, her voice was unsteady and pitched high.

"I drove as fast as I could and I was there within minutes, but even so it was too late. I couldn't catch a proper glimpse of them, but I saw Sue. I saw her before she was carried in."

"In where?" Peter murmured and Johanna shook her head.

"Into the van. There was a van there, right outside their house like it was waiting for them. I followed it for as long as I could, but I lost it. There wasn't a plate number, either."

Fingers twisting together as though trying to morph themselves into knots, Johanna gave him a pained look, grief staining her every feature.

"I tried to go to the police about it, but they refused to listen. Always said that they'd be on the lookout, but they treated me like I was crazy." She swallowed hard, an odd hiccuping sound escaping her. "I knew what that meant, of course."

Parker did, too. As a reporter who had covered one too many cases that the police were "_ looking into _", he was over familiar with the code for " _too small a matter to waste resources on _". Add in the possibility that Miss Robertson was simply looking for her fifteen minutes of fame by profiteering off her renowned friends, and you had a case that was shut before it ever saw the light of day. Thankfully, wasting resources and chasing after barely detectable loose ends was exactly the sort of business Spider-Man dealt with.

He sat back as Johanna ended her tale, turning her face to the side to compose herself. When she faced him again, it was in her usual determined set, her glittering sapphire irises clear and cool. Even if he didn't want to, Peter did see the logic behind her desire to unearth the doctor's supposed corpse, although the thought of it still made his skin prickle. Removing his glasses, he wiped the large round lenses against his tweed coat and sighed.

"Well, Miss Robertson. I suppose there's only one thing you and I can expect to do first." He pushed his frame securely on his nose and stood, hands in pockets. "Why don't you bring me to the Richards' home?"

~0~

The acclamations of the Richardses was clearly visible in their swanky uptown neighbourhood, a stone garden of piercing alabaster spires and walls that were more glass than brick. Paved cobblestone pathways lined the carpets of smooth asphalt and separated each luxurious home from another, barren trees dotting the streets like mushrooms.

It was surprisingly often that Spider-Man's work brought him close to affluent suburbs like this; layers of polish only served to hide the filth beneath. He was glad to note, however, that he hadn't been forced to make a visit to the doctors' old nesting ground till today.

It hardly took a world class detective to point out which of those opulent estates had once been the Richardses'. Barely standing, the charred skeleton of shattered cement and melted steel was a collapsed relic amongst pristine showpieces, a singular blemish on the finely burnished china. From what Peter could make out, the damage from the explosion hadn't been too dramatic, but anything of value that could've survived had been stripped away by money laundering scavengers and opportunistic coppers alike. Even the sheets from the couches were nowhere to be seen.

"Like I said," Johanna slammed her car door shut, pocketing the keys, "there isn't much left to investigate. I don't really know if there's a point to this at all."

Peter merely hummed in response, hands in his coat as he crunched rubble beneath his shoes. The police barriers surrounding the house waved limply in the cool breeze like yellow streamers at a birthday party, long since cut but never replaced. That was lucky, since it meant no one could give a damn if anyone were to break their legs wandering about inside, much less snooping for clues.

There was little to inspire excitement in Peter's admiring mind from being in Dr. Reed's recently occupied home and workspace. Very few items had been regarded as too invaluable or sentimental to be of interest to the looters that had visited. He plucked his way gingerly through what had most probably been the living room, taking note of the cool blue walls and empty wooden cabinets as Johanna trailed slowly behind him, having denied his request for her to stay where it was safe and his offer of assistance. There was a crumbling staircase to the far right, the wall beneath it showcasing torn and singed photographs of Sue and Reed's life and achievements at Baxter Laboratories and elsewhere. He noted that down for future inspection a little later.

"Is this where their lab was?" Peter asked, jumping down a gaping hole to where a long table covered in shards of glass and tangled messes of fascinating apparatuses slumped. Johanna gave a soft gasp, stumbling to kneel and peer over the edge with wide eyes.

"Don't scare me like that!" She snapped, and Peter couldn't quite stifle the cocksure grin that split his cracked lips. He lifted his hand up to shield his eyes from the overcast light, waving up at her with the other. Her brows furrowed, but she nodded in affirmation, regardless.

"It was part of it, yes. Half of the basement was dedicated to their indoor laboratory. The other was the cellar."

Half of it? That didn't quite add up. True, most of the place was covered slabs of broken concrete and residual dust, but that didn't explain why there were so few papers scattered around. He could tell from the lack of debris and the few unburnt sheets he could see that they hadn't been reduced to ash- they appeared to have been coated in some kind of inflammable substance; ingenious- so where had the rest of their research gone?

The realisation quickly brought another question to his sharpened mind: Where were the remnants of their experiment?

Judging from the manner by which everything appeared to be left as it was- not enough state funding to clear the place off most likely- they hadn't been taken in for further testing. Beakers and vials of all shapes and sizes were cracked and spread haphazardly over the sizeable table Peter had been inspecting, but there wasn't a drop of solvent or a grain of metal to be found. Even if the heat from the accident had caused evaporation or sublimation, surely a handful of substances would have had higher thermal capacities?

He took a quick glance over at the numerous shelves lining the walls and floor, considered their askew positions and flung open drawers. An explosion from the center of the room should have caused them to be thrown backwards, their drawers forced in by the blast, yet they were open and flung onto their fronts. A cold, familiar snake of uneasiness unfurled itself down his spine, the hair along his neck and arms rising with his heartbeat. Someone had been here. And, whatever they'd been looking for, he could only hope they hadn't found it.

After certifying that his fair companion was no longer within sight, Peter set about the task of bodily correcting the toppled coffers, rifling through any of the drawers that would give. As he'd expected, they were filled to the brim with typed or scribbled out notes of the doctors' collective studies, though most of it was incomprehensible to even his educated mind.

Scanning through the available papers was like figuring out an incomplete jigsaw puzzle; missing pieces either stashed away separately- unlikely, considering the meticulous arrangement of each file and cabinet- or tossed about in the raid of the cubby hole. From what Peter could make out, whoever had popped on by had been a man of the Richards' perspicacity; they'd been after something specific, and, conceivably, comprehended plenty more of the enigmatic writing and graphs than he had on a thorough, albeit perfunctory, reading.

In each drawer, only a couple of the files had been disturbed, rifled through quickly before, being abandoned for lack of relevancy. Peter thought back to the photographs on the wall. It stood to reason that whomsoever had ransacked the scene was someone familiar with the doctors' work, familiar enough to know it at a glance. Familiar enough to have been part of it.

_Thud _!

Peter turned around, a hair too quick, only to find Miss Robertson carefully climbing down a ladder she had dropped. She turned to face him, hands on her hips.

"How exactly were you planning to climb back out?"

He shrugged. "I was gonna ask you to find a ladder. Glad to see we're on the same page, Miss Robertson."

She bit on her lower lip, then rolled her eyes with a melodramatic sigh. He caught the faint lift of her lips before she turned her head to look around at the mess.

"So? What did you find, Detective?"

Folding his arms, he shook his head and moved to stand beside her. "Nothing."

Johanna's shoulders sagged as she nodded. "Yeah, that's what I'd figured. I suppose I'd just hoped-"

"No, that's the oddity of it all." He gestured at the mess on the table and the mess of the drawers. "There's nothing here. Someone's come and cleaned the place out."

Taking five swift steps, he brought himself to the table and began feeling along the top for something. There weren't any drawers or chests attached to it, but the breadth of its sides rang alarm bells in his head. Chances were the doctors were exactly the sort of folk that could use a secret compartment or two.

"And whoever it was, they had a purpose. It wasn't your ordinary ol' crumb."

Silently, Johanna joined him, and reached underneath to feel about. There was a soft click, and the table rose to reveal a second compartment underneath it. A couple of handwritten sheets had been stored beneath, curlique blue letters kept untouched by wear or fire. Peter turned to her, curiosity marring his every feature.

"Did some work for them, remember? So you think somebody popped on by and had a looksee? What for?"

Dissatisfied, but unwilling to push the matter further, he returned his attention to the secret hideaway, picking at the few sheets that had been stowed there.

"I don't know, but I'm hoping these might help Spider-Man. Don't suppose you understand any of it?"

She leaned in, close enough for him to smell the intoxicating, smoky bouquet of her perfume, then pulled back with a shake of her head.

"Sorry, it looks to be about biochemistry or molecular physics. Not my forte."

He nodded, then tucked the papers safely in his coat, subtly webbing them in place. Overhead, the sky was turning orange, with strokes of red shading the horizon like on the skin of an apricot. They didn't have much time till the neighbours returned, nor till it was time for the vigilante Spider-Man to make his appearance.

"Come on. We should be off soon."

Once they had clambered out of the destroyed laboratory, and Peter had helped her replace the ladder back where she'd found it, he walked over to the hanging frames, studying them. Many of the photos were of the Richards alone, at openings of the Baxter Laboratory or the New York Library of Science, but a few included a young man with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair, always near Dr. Susan.

There was a touch of familiarity to him, and his resemblance to the good doctor was undeniable, which lead Peter to believe that this must've been the Johnny Storm he'd heard about. If he was the movie star Miss Robertson said he was, he certainly looked the part, all neatly pressed suits and beguiling grins that had probably tempted secrets out of many a dame. And likely more, too.

Peter flicked his gaze to the few other Joes that were captured in frame with the doctors; a tall, broad shouldered Goliath of a man, who was second only to Storm in frequency, and a dignified, handsome sort of feller who stood a little way off from Dr. Reed at the Baxter opening.

Johanna joined him, hands folded against her front. She had been taking inventory of the house, it seemed, running her fingers over cracks in the foundation and righting fallen decor. He would have told her that it wasn't wise to tamper with the evidence, but he'd already found all that would be of use to him and it wasn't like the county officers were going to stop by anytime soon.

"What are you looking at?"

"Those people beside the doctors. Do you know who they are?"

"Oh. Yes. That's Sue's brother, Johnny," she tapped her finger to the glass, "And this is Reed's friend from university and lab partner, Dr. Von Doom."

Von Doom? Now that was an unfortunate name if Peter had ever heard one. It was probably foreign. He quirked his head to the side thoughtfully.

"From the University of Edinburgh?"

"No, from back when he was still a student. I think they attended Empire State. Reed often spoke highly of him."

Nodding, he filed that away for further consideration at a later hour. While he didn't suspect Dr. Von Doom, it might do him good to pay him a visit. See if he could assist him at deciphering his partner's codified notes and formulae. He jerked a thumb at the Joe she'd left out. "What about him?"

Johanna's arms came to wrap around her waist, lips compressed. "That's... Benjamin Grimm. We worked together for a bit."

"Hm."

From the sound of it, there was a lot more to their story than just "working together", but he didn't have cause to push for it yet. Neither did he for the question of why there were no photographs of Johanna with the Richards hung up. Part of him was hopeful that it was just another romantic encounter gone south, with the Richardses caught in between, but another was skeptical as to whether anything could truly be so simple.

"Think he'd know anything about what they were working on?"

"He... Might. He was a bit more involved with Reed's work than I was. I can give him a call, if you want."

So whatever it was that had happened between them hadn't been bad enough for them to cut ties immediately, then. Or perhaps finding out what happened to the Richardses scored higher in her list of priorities than keeping peace. Peter wasn't sure which he preferred.

"You may not need to, but keep him in mind anyway. Spider-Man could use his help."

With the sun sunken low into the horizon like a penny into a grifter's pocket, the duo made their hasty getaway, unseen by prying eyes. Johanna was quiet on the way back, her mind elsewhere even as her vision was trained hypnotically on the road. She dropped Peter off at the Bugle without question.

"I'll inform our partner about your decision. I'd recommend you meet him there." He said as he slammed the door shut, leaning his elbows on the rolled down windowsill of her automobile.

"Hm? Oh! Right. Thank you for that." Then she frowned at him, a faint smile pulling at her lips. "Don't suppose I could convince you to give me a way of contacting him myself? It would certainly make all this faster."

Peter shrugged, matching her smile with one of his own, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, don't let me stop you, kid. You know where his office is. Feel free to drop him a letter."

He snorted at the way her expression dropped, then leaned back. "Have a safe drive home, Miss Robertson. I'll be in touch."

As her car rolled down the dirt road, he mentally took note of the driver's plate.

~0~

By the time Spider-Man had arrived back at Captain Stacy's office, the moon had risen high into the sky and the streets were filled with nightly fog, smothering, clammy, and all encompassing. He drew his coat tighter around him, feeling the rustle of the papers within, and walked to where Stacy always kept his gifts: the generator room.

The Richardses' file was expectedly brief, with only details regarding the date, time, place, and casualties of the incident being listed. Their autopsies were similarly uninformative. Classified as an accident, the Richardses' deaths had been caused by burning and physical trauma as a result of chemically induced combustion. A photograph attached of the bodies confirmed what Parker had suspected on the reasoning behind keeping the families ignorant of their final state: They were burnt beyond recognition. He didn't like to think of how Johanna would react upon finding them if they were, in fact, dead and buried.

Replacing the autopsy into the yellowing file, he took out what little had been noted about the scene where they'd been found. Nothing was reported on the shelves, which either meant they'd been overlooked- on purpose or by accident, who could say-, or that had been done after the cops had left. Startlingly enough, a note had been made on the uncertainty of what could be claimed regarding the cause of the explosion, but obviously it hadn't been deemed worthy enough of a mystery to warrant further looking into.

As he'd also suspected, there wasn't a single thing to be found on Johanna Robertson, either. Uncorking the ballpoint he kept in his coat pocket, Spider-Man wrote a note of thanks and the plate number he'd read off Johanna's short. Hopefully that would give him a bit more insight to his mysterious companions movements before she'd found him.

He took out the papers they'd uncovered at the scene and read through them once more. No matter how many ways he twisted it, there didn't appear to be anything that the Richardses had been working on to cause an explosion, especially not one of that magnitude. The papers were dated, too, which left no room for speculation that the reports might have been out of order. Frowning, he tucked it back in, stood from the wall he'd been perched on and webbed out into the mist.

He found Johanna waiting for him in front of the Richardses' gravestones, her grey coat, scarf, and overbearing hat back in place on her golden curls. He took a moment to study her, the wind wavering her silhouette in the waning moonlight, her legs enveloped in a cloud by tendrils of smoke and brume. Something about the pretty picture that made made him think they wouldn't be disturbed that night.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting long, Miss Robertson."

Her head turned to the side, but her hat was dipped too low for him to make out her eyes. Below the umbrage, however, her sanguine lips turned up.

"Evenin', Dick Spider."

Leaping down from the pillar he'd been alight, Spider-Man landed agilely by her side, the ever present fog parting momentarily before seeping back in place, like hooch in a drunkard's bottle. He arched his brow at her beneath his mask, head cocking as she angled the rim of her hat away from her baby blues, '"_Dick Spider_'?"

Johanna shrugged. "Had a nice ring to it. And it sounded less ridiculous than 'Spider-Man'."

Parker didn't justify the statement with a response, only nodded at the wreath of wilted flowers shivering in the cold, obscuring the words of the keystones.

"This is it, then? Dr. Susan Richards's final resting ground. Purportedly."

Her flat expression warmed at him for a moment, then she nodded, firm. With a gentleness that came from a place beyond Spider-Man's comprehension, she pushed the flowers away, revealing the clean gothic lettering. She hesitated for a moment, then, her composure faltering as she read the concrete proclamation.

_'Dr. Susan Storm-Richards._

_1 November 1908_

_9 December 1934'_

Swallowing harshly and bending down, she picked up the pair of shovels that had been lying, hidden in the smog, beside the plaque. She stretched one out to him, her knuckles bone white on the handle, as tight as the smile she gave him.

"Not much to be gained from standing around, Dick Spider. Shall we?"

The work was menial and unfulfilling, done in tense silence broken by the sound of laboured breathing and the wet, sickening squelch of rusty tin on damp earth. The sound conjured up nightmares for Parker, old memories as dark as the damned fumes that hung over the city like a curse, of shiny white blades and terrified eyes. He didn't let himself linger on them, instead turning his attention to the task at hand. He wasn't too concerned over being found out; his Instinct would warn him of it plenty of time before it could happen.

Enhanced strength and stamina given to him by an unkind (or perhaps _too kind _) arachnid meant that, as thoroughly dolesome as the shovelling might have been, it was simple work for Spider-Man.

What surprised him, however, was the fact that, even in the oppressive dew and cold carried on the wings of those nocturnal winds, Johanna had hardly even broke a sweat. She worked with near feverish purpose, her eyes never leaving the ground, her arms tireless in their assail. Just a ceaseless _'chk chk chk' _.

When the metal of his shovel collided with wood, both he and Johanna paused for a second, their eyes meeting. She nodded at him once, then crouched down to push away at the grime and worms with her hands, till the splintered cover of the Chicago overcoat shone through. Stepping back, closer to him, she placed her arms on her hips, a troubled twist lacing her lips like a badly done stitch on an otherwise perfect quilt. Grey drove into brown as he lightly punctured the wood with his shovel, reaching up with his hand to brush his fingers by her elbow.

"You should get out. I'll do it."

At first, she looked like she might argue, her brows dipping to draw strokes between them and her lips uncrossing, but then her mind caught up and she nodded. It'd be quicker for him to wrench open the case without her there, though that wasn't the singular reason why he'd offered. After helping her up and handing her her shovel, Spider-Man turned back to the coffin, his grip tightening on his own tool.

In their line of work, both Peter Parker and Spider-Man had come across more bodies in coffins than anyone would prefer. He thought back to the dull sound that had been produced when his trowel had drove against the wood. He knew what an occupied casket sounded like.

He knew there was a body in Susan Richards's coffin.

With a deep breath, Parker lodged the metallic edge between the lid and moulding, his mind racing back to the horrific pictures he'd seen in Stacy's files. He felt Johanna's eyes, heavy and fearful, on the back of his neck, heard the soft intake of breath that she tried to stifle. Adjusting his hold and breathing in deep himself, Spider-Man pushed down.

The lid gave way with ease, parts of the wood shattering from the poorly hammered nails, deep cracks breaking through the surface. Parker tossed aside the shovel and firmly gripped at the opening he'd made, forcing the rest of the header away. He stepped back and stared.

As he'd deduced, there was a body inside, but it couldn't even remotely be mistaken for the mangled mess he'd seen in the photograph before. The woman was blonde and spindly, her gaunt features preserved by the cold. Parts of her body had been burned, but it almost looked as if it had been done after she'd died, a patchwork pattern of blisters and peeling skin that looked too systematic to have been caused by an actual fire. Her rank blonde hair fell in straight threads, longer than Susan Richards had ever worn hers and made brittle by malnourishment. No matter the rot it had undergone, there was no mistaking the body for the doctor's.

Behind him, Johanna's legs gave way, and she sank to the floor. Spider-Man turned back to face her, allowing the lid of the coffin to creak back shut. Her eyes were wide, and her hands clenched white by her chest. Wordlessly, Spider-Man crawled out of the pit and helped her to her feet, instructing her gently to go wait in the car. He watched her go until her silhouette was completely enveloped by the mist, then returned to the uncovered grave.

Parker wouldn't have considered himself a particularly spiritual man, his condition or gift seemed to have both weakened and strengthened his beliefs in that sense; but, as he stared into the gaping crevice that he had helped uncover, he found himself hoping that there was something out there looking out for the Richardses. Keeping them safe, and most importantly, alive.

Rolling the sleeves of his black button up coat a bit higher, he set about re-burying the body.

Johanna was leaning against the hood of her car when Spider-Man exited the graveyard, her arms folded and her head bent. She looked up as he approached, his rough, scuffing footsteps more for her benefit than any sort of lethargy he may have felt. They were both silent as he came to stand beside her, imitating her stance, resting his hip against the icy bumper, as he leaned into the quiet. He measured her breaths without meaning to. A steady wave ebbing in, out, in, out...

"She wasn't in there."

The air from her lungs turned tangible in the frigid night, a sliver of cloud that disappeared as swiftly as it was formed.

"No."

She nodded slowly, then hugged her arms closer to her body, a gentle sway coming over her. Above, the ruined bandages of clouds drifted lazily across the shining face of the moon, throwing them deeper into the thralls of night. A wind whispered by, rustling through the trees and scattering eerie secrets into the ears of guileless passerbys. The city's warning was easy enough to read: Rain was imminent.

Straightening, Spider-Man dipped his hands into his pockets, looking back at her to ensure she would follow. "Come on. I know a place."

~0~

Pale Horse Tavern wasn't the ritzy gin mill its owners liked to think it was, but the inside was golden warm and dry, which was good enough for Spider-Man on any a day. What more, the folks that frequented the place were decent, and oftentimes much too preoccupied in their own strife to worry about what he was doing there.

The old frail that managed the joint gave him a gapped tooth smile when she saw him, setting down the glass she'd been wiping dry. It was a slow night from the looks of it, barely any patrons to be found drinking their sorrows away, or otherwise. Good. He preferred it that way.

"Evening, sheriff," her voice came crackling out of her throat, rumbling and broken like a faulty radio, "What can I get you tonight?"

Parker set his hat down on the chipped wooden countertop, settling himself on the tattered barstool comfortably. Beside him, Johanna primly sat on the edge of her seat, her fingertips gripping the table to keep herself from wobbling.

"Evening, Sharon. Just the usual for me, thanks."

Sharon nodded before tilting her head at Johanna, her smile growing kinder "And what about your pretty filly here?"

"I'll have the same, I think. Thank you."

With another quick nod, Sharon turned away to retrieve the glasses, heading off somewhere into the back to get their drinks done. Johanna went back to blurrily surveying the room. It was a small establishment, with only eight sets of round tables and chairs to its name, the plaster walls covered with newspaper clippings and photographs. There was an upstairs, but it wasn't open to customers. Softly, a gramophone in the corner was playing an old song, the canary's voice just low enough to be ignored.

Spider-Man glanced at her from his peripherals, eyes narrowed behind his goggles in concern. For one so outspoken and opinionated, Johanna had been troublingly reticent since they'd begun their expedition and doubly so after they'd made their discovery. Outside, the first droplets of rain pattered against the tin roof, echoing through the tavern.

"Are you all right?"

She blinked back to him, surprised, but then she grimaced and shook her head.

"I don't know," she confessed, her voice low, "I thought I would be pleased, but..." Her eyebrows knitted with her shoulders and she hissed a sigh through her teeth. "Now I'm just wondering where she is."

Spider-Man adjusted himself, so his body was angled towards her, his elbow propped on the tabletop. "Well, that's what you hired me for, isn't it?" He said, shrugging nonchalantly despite the various questions whirring in his own mind. "We'll find her."

It was a dangerous promise to make, especially when he'd already warned her of the opposite in the beginning, but Peter found that, at the present moment, he cared more for easing her strain than what he could or could not deliver. When she smiled faintly up at him after a few seconds, he felt his shoulders relax.

Her posture straightened, eyes resuming their usual wide state, and she lifted her chin onto her intertwined fingers. The smile she wore grew a fraction wider and she peered at him from her peripherals, those startling blue eyes looking at him from beneath long, thick lashes. His heart faltered in his throat; quiet and dismissive, but present. Like the flitter of a moth's wings just before it was burnt by a lamp.

"_ We _," she echoed, her gaze resting on his heavily. He was grateful for the mask he wore. "You said we."

Her smirk grew self-satisfied as she turned her chin to properly stare into his lenses, waiting for him to try and contradict her. He didn't. He knew when a fight was lost.

"You're here, aren't you? And we did just perform a highly illegal act together."

She grinned, biting on the inside of her cheek and shaking her wavy blond hair. Her pleasure and pride were simple to read, most of the tension drained away from her face, so Spider-Man shifted back to face straight ahead. Just in time, too, as Sharon returned with a tray and two tall glasses filled with dark brown liquid.

Johanna was befuddled as Sharon sat their order down in front of them, announcing it with a finality that made her bright eyes shutter, but then Spider-Man was rolling his mask up and her attention was diverted to him, lips parted in a stunned gape. He arched a brow at her, equally perplexed, before recalling that anything past his nose would be a mystery to her.

"What is it?"

Her hand came to rest by her lips, hiding them from him, but, very clearly, he could see the mirth building in her dancing, crinkling eyes. When she laughed, short and buoyant, his lips slanted and he took his glass patiently.

"Sorry, it's just," she lowered her hand, but her wide grin remained in place, "I wasn't expecting _this _."

Her hand wove in an arc to gesture at their cups, one of which he was presently sipping from. Johanna rested her chin on her curved fingers, her pinky pressed disconcertingly to her red, full lower lip.

"I thought it might've been hooch or something, but, no. Spider-Man likes egg creams."

Peter released the straw he'd had clamped between his teeth and scowled at her. "What do you have against egg creams?"

That, most peculiarly, made her laugh harder, and she hooked her fingers around her own glass, drawing it closer.

"Nothing!" She exclaimed, as she took a sip, eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. "Especially not with one this good, but, you have to admit, it's kind of funny. The rough and tough Spider-Man liking sugar and cream." Her chin ducked as she swallowed another chortle, "You should have your friend report on this. It'd endear you to the public."

How his personal preference in drinks was supposed to be cause for humour or affliction was a riddle even Spider-Man couldn't solve, so he simply scoffed and returned back to his sweetened drink. "Spider-Man's job doesn't pay to be endearing."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Her tone, velveted in honey, made him pause, glancing to her before he could think better of it. She was still resting her gaze on him, though it was softer now, almost in a way that could be described as fond. Her shoulder lifted and collapsed in a small, smooth motion.

"I'm paying you, and I'm plenty enough endeared to you already."

A warmth flushed in his chest, and buzzed in his ears, as though the drink in front of him was stronger than what it was. He forced his head to turn away, and tried to have his thoughts do the same, but they stayed, stubbornly, on her.

She hadn't meant it how it came out sounding, he was sure, and he wasn't certain if he even wanted her to. He hardly knew anything about her, and he was almost fully convinced that the little he did know of her was a convoluted blend of lies and half truths. Still, she was engaging, radiant, and witty, and bold with him in a way that only one woman had ever been in the face of Spider-Man's destructive power.

"_ And what had become of that woman? _" A voice inside his head asked sharply, her infliction caustic and barbed. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time, but one that was never difficult to remember, burned into his heart and mind for all eternity.

"So, what happens now?"

Her strange low timbre returned him to her side, and he cleared his throat roughly, swallowing another mouthful of his egg cream, making his cough redundant.

"Now, we follow the only lead we have." He tapped at the breast pocket of his coat, above where the papers had been carefully tucked in. "We pay a visit to Dr. Von Doom and see what he can tell us about the experiments they were doing that night."

"All right, then." She pushed back in her seat, reaching inside her coat for her purse before he stopped her.

"Don't trouble yourself."

She glanced, surprised, at his hand resting on her exposed wrist, which he quickly removed.

"Does it not come under part of your fees?"

"Wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it? Besides, it's all your green anyway."

Of course, he wasn't going to charge her for it, but she hardly needed to know that. Slowly, her arm returned, empty handed, to the lacquered surface, fingers idly tapping in time with the skipping jingle. If he'd been watching a bit more closely, he might have caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes and the hurriedly tempered blush of her cheeks when she murmured a soft, "Okay. Thanks."

With a curt nod and an aborted cough, Spider-Man touched his thumb and forefinger together, his mind occupied with how strangely warm her skin had been, even in the biting cold of New York. Hopefully, it was just the heat of the inn rather than her coming down with a fever.

"Does Dr. Von Doom know you very well," he asked, his eyes going sideways to hers, "Think he'd be more willing if you requested it?"

Johanna gave a dry laugh around her straw, a stream of bubbles erupting in her glass.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "We've never spoken. He didn't come down to our department very often, and, when he did, he only spoke to a few of us." She scoffed through her nose, her eyes rolling upwards for a fraction of a second. "I don't think he thought very highly of us, but Reed liked him well enough, so we tolerated it."

Spider-Man weighed the information silently in his mind. In a way, it was probably for the best that Von Doom knew so little of Johanna; that meant he wouldn't be concerned with sparing her feelings or attempting to talk them out of her seemingly baseless fixation. However, on the other hand, if he truly was such a stuck up, there was little point in hoping that he would talk to a meagre reporter on something so technical and scientific.

If he were talking to Spider-Man, however...

"Think he'll still be in?"

Johanna paused, glancing at him then looking swiftly to the clock. It was half past midnight, not too late for visits by the local vigilante to be considered horribly rude. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyebrows scrunched in thought as Spider-Man pulled his mask down, his unconsciously tense shoulders relaxing the moment his face was unreadable once again. After a handful of seconds, she nodded, slow and unsure, but determined.

"It's not uncommon for him to stay after hours. Always had more work to finish." She stood up when he did, tightening her scarf and pushing her hat down firmly. "There's a chance he might be if we hurry."

Webbing a Lincoln down on the table, Spider-Man pushed his chair back and stood, grabbing his Trilby.

"Well, then. Let's go."

~0~

Photographs could distort many things; make a man look taller than he actually was, turn a disaster into a minor accident, change a clip joint into the snazziest rag hub in town, all with the right angle and the click of a shutter. Baxter Laboratory had not been subjected to that sort of disillusionment.

In every photo Parker had ever seen of the Lab, it had looked grand and stately, a behemoth of blue tinted glass all the way from its double door entrance to its arched crystal rooftops. Seeing it in person, even in the husky darkness, made him whistle low.

There was a marble and steel fountain outside of the building, its clear waters turned to a scintillating mirror in the winter. The sheets of rain that had been pouring down were thinned to gossamer now, and he watched, fascinated, as they slid down the lucid panels covering the entire skyscraper, leaving droplets that shone and glistened like diamonds across the entire building. If he was arriving as Peter Parker, he probably would've felt self-conscious about turning up in a place like this dressed the way he was, but, as Spider-Man, he was just impressed.

Johanna walked over to him from where she'd parked beneath a long row of evenly spaced trees. She'd offered to drive him, but he'd declined; driving was boatloads less thrilling when you had the ability to swing across roofs, it seemed.

"It'll be locked now." She lifted her head, eyes squinting up at the looming tower, trying to make out whether there was a light on inside. "How should we enter?"

Lightly, Spider-Man rested his palm against the side of the building, flexing the hairs in his fingertips that allowed him to cling to almost any surface. He pulled against his grip, and smiled when it barely budged. His gaze followed up to where she'd been staring, and saw vaguely shifting shadows from one of the upper floors. He jerked his head toward it.

"Is that where Dr. Von Doom's office is?"

Johanna affirmed that it was. Hopefully, it wasn't just the janitor inside. Nodding, he positioned his hands on either side of his head.

"Wait, I'm coming with you."

He stopped, staring at her. "You can't. It's too dangerous."

She planted her hands on her hips and scowled in a way that reminded him of his Aunt May.

"You don't even know which one it is. It'll be faster if I come."

He didn't like to admit it, but her reasoning was sound. More often than not, inviting himself into locked buildings often meant wasted time spent on searching empty rooms which often had to be broken into, too. Somehow, he doubted the doctor would be very inclined to help if Spider-Man simply forced his way into his private laboratory. Reluctantly, he sighed.

"Climb on."

At first, she looked delighted at her triumph. Then his words sank in and she stepped back, eyes wide. "What?"

"Put your arms around my neck. I'll climb up."

He could see the intrigue in her eyes, the shine of hesitant excitement, like he'd offered to let her shoot a Roscoe. Feet shuffling closer, she moved her hands away from herself, but still didn't touch him.

"Are you sure I won't choke you?"

The corner of his lip quirked up beneath his mask, but he kept his tone rough. "I've done it before. But, if you're afraid, you can wait down here."

Her gaze hardened at that, arms hooking firmly across his neck as she moved her hat to clamp between their bodies, careful to push down on his shoulders more than the line of his throat.

"I'm not afraid," she declared, as he gingerly guided her legs to curl around his middle. Lucky for them, she'd had the sense and foresight to opt for pants over those long cotton skirts that were so popular.

She gripped him a fraction tighter when his feet left the ground, but, as they made their gradual ascent without stumble nor incident, she relaxed her hold. Her arms and legs were comfortingly warm against the buffeting mistrals, anchoring his mind on something other than their lithe solidity or the softness of her body arching into his back. They didn't do much to distract him from her hot breath against his neck, though, felt even between the downy layer of his mask, nor the sound of her quiet gasp when he'd first, easily, lifted off the ground, whispered right by his ear. Despite the best of his chagrin and internal litany to pay no mind to it, he knew that the memory would stay with him for a long time yet. At least he'd known better than to hold her.

"Do you have to do this often, then?" Johanna whispered, a touch breathless, when they were half of the way up, catching him so off guard he'd nearly slipped.

"No," he responded, glad to hear that his voice sounded even, unchanged, "But, when I do, I'm usually carrying folks down."

He could hear her grin when she spoke next, and wasn't sure about how he felt that he could interpret the variation.

"Must be a nice change of pace for you."

"Would be even nicer if our positions were shifted," he grunted.

It took him all of the two minutes of cool, bemused silence that followed to realise how that must've come off, and he really did almost drop her then.

"You need to stop doing that!"

"I didn't- I hardly meant- I would never-"

Her laughter hummed low and sultry, pleasant stifled chortles that made his skin bloom red beneath the mask.

"I know," she trilled softly, "but, Dick Spider, that's the youngest I've ever heard you sound. I could hardly be sorry for it."

His pulse skipped in his throat before, with purposeful calmness, he asked, "What makes you think I'm young?"

"The eggs creams." She said with immediate seriousness and he huffed, the temporary alarm he'd felt mollifying against his ego's maximal of condemnations.

"Lady, if you can't appreciate a decent cup of slosh in this speakeasy filled with swill, then that's your problem, not anyone else's."

Johanna snorted, and, if he shut his eyes, he could see her rolling hers.

"Oh, do forgive me for failing to comprehend your refined taste, Spider-Man."

"Don't think I'm against dropping you."

"Ha-ha."

But her arms tightened anyway, even if merely by a hair. Peter bit back on a triumphant grin, then remembered she couldn't see it and relished the feeling.

"It's behaviour like that that tells me you can't be much older than I am, if you must know." Johanna chirped up snidely, though he could still make out the smiling lilt in her voice, "And, of course, the fact that you're plenty rugged and haven't any wrinkles around your mouth."

Spider-Man hummed in turn, making a mental note to be careful about who he showed his face, or part of it, to in the future. They were about twelve steps away from the correct window, and he needed to erase all traces of mirth from his manner if he wanted answers. Odd how that had never been an issue before he'd begun associating with her.

In three brisk raps of his gloved knuckles, Spider-Man had gained the attention of the person inside. The human shaped shadow straightened from where he'd been hunched over and looked about the room. He knocked another five counts, and called out for good measure.

"Outside the window. And don't think about running off or I'll smash it in."

"Not the best way to ask for a favour," muttered Johanna under her breath, but the silhouette on the other side grew larger and unhooked the latch, so who was she to criticise?

Spider-Man had to dodge to the side as it swung open, missing them thanks to his Instinct. Without a word, he clambered inside, a feat made difficult by his added height, and deposited Johanna on the floor next to him.

The man who'd answered their call seemed unimpressed, wearing a tightly drawn scowl across his eyebrows and lips. There was a patch of gauze plastered over the right cheek of his hollow face, but, even with that, there was no mistaking the sharp dark eyes and lean, imposing figure.

"Spider-Man," Dr. Von Doom declared, his arms folding across his chest as he moved to shut the window, "What a pleasant surprise."

His voice, a deep husky tenor that bordered on a growl, said otherwise, but Spider-Man gave no indication he'd noticed. Beside him, Johanna shifted closer to the shadows, wrapping herself in their cold embrace.

"Dr. Von Doom, I'm guessing." He removed his hat, following the scientist as he returned to his desk, the only part of the barren office that was lit. "Enjoy working in the dark?"

"I find it to be less taxing on my eyes, peculiar as that may sound." He folded himself casually into his chair, and gestured for him to do the same with another rolled to the other side of the room.

"Forgive my coarse manners, it's been a long night. Please, tell me what brings you here at such an hour. Nothing bad, I hope?"

Electing to stay standing, though leant up against the edge of the desk to put the doctor at ease, Parker watched as Von Doom's fingers came to massage the area between his brows. He gave no signs of having recognised Johanna, nor did he seem particularly concerned with her presence there at all. The less he knew of Spider-Man's doings, the better it seemed.

He didn't hurry to answer Von Doom's question, taking his time to note the carefully arranged papers and apparatus of foamy liquid bubbling away atop the glass paned counter. The doctor's writing was minute and fine, almost impossible to read, but he caught sight of familiar formulae and scratches of sentences on a few of the sheets. Imperceptibly, the doctor reached out and arranged them, murmuring something about the mess and taking Parker's gaze away from them. He cleared his throat.

"I apologise for dropping in unannounced." He wasn't. That was half of Spider-Man's work. "But I have questions I think only you can help answer, Dr. Von Doom."

Reaching into his coat, he unstuck the file he had retrieved from the Richardses' home and handed it to the scientist. He only had to open the file to give him cause for pause, and he looked up to Spider-Man, curiosity clouding his expression.

"This is Reed's, is it not? Why do you have it?"

"You recognise it?"

"His handwriting, yes. We worked together for a long time." His fingers trailed over the words, flipping the page to examine the text further. Von Doom flicked his gaze up to Spider-Man's, something akin to suspicion gracing the edges of his composure.

"Where did you get this from?"

Spider-Man uncrossed his arms and walked a little closer to him, his palms coming to rest on the empty section of the desk. Beside him, the bubbling mixture turned from orange to a cloudy blue, precipitation forming in the beaker.

"Exactly where you think I did, Doctor. His house." Von Doom's chin jerked inward, and his mouth opened, presumably, to reprobate, but Spider-Man continued.

"Something about the accident struck me as strange and I think it has something to do with those papers you have there."

Doom's eyes shuttered toward his experiment for a moment, seeming to note its shift, then quickly returned to his file.

"If you can, I'd like for you to help interpret what it all means. It might shed light on what happened that night."

Four bony fingers reached absentmindedly to scratch at Dr. Von Doom's cheek, just below the plaster, and his eyes dipped.

"I can, but, if you don't mind me saying, it looks to be a waste of time." He looked up to the other man, his gaze firm, "Accidents happen all the time, and the police hardly found problems with it. Dredging it up like this for no reason will only cause unnecessary hurt."

"Besides," his hand tapped against the page he was reading, "there isn't anything particularly odd about these, either. Just his findings on his recent study."

"Which was?"

"I don't know much on it. We weren't working on it together." His turned his attention to his bubbling experiment, adding a few drops of yellow liquid to the mixture. He looked back to Spider-Man, disinterested.

"From the little I do know, though, he was trying to create a new kind of material. Something that would morph itself to the user's every need." He lifted a shoulder in nonchalance, "It was a remarkable idea, but, apparently, just a pipe dream."

"Anything in there that could have caused the explosion?"

Von Doom frowned, and peered at the pages a bit closer, flipping forward and backward.

"In theory, yes, I suppose." He relented at last, "It would be a case of combining the wrong substances and temperatures, but Reed was always one to experiment." A soft sigh escaped him. "I suppose, this time, he was a little too confident in his abilities."

Spider-Man's frown deepened. In the corner of the room, he heard Johanna's sharp intake of breath, but neither said a word.

Von Doom stood to stretch out his legs, covering his lips with the back of his hand as he gave a quiet yawn. He picked the files back up and gave them another cursory once over.

"I apologise, Spider-Man, but it's getting late. If you leave them with me, I may be able to find out more on it."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary." He lifted an open hand to the doctor, and, after a second, the papers were back in his coat.

"I'll walk you down. The usual way is much easier than climbing walls."

Enclosed in darkness, the winding hallways and rows of identical doors made the laboratory seem more like a sick bay- or an asylum. There wasn't another soul in sight, save for the few shadows rising and falling behind closed quarters and the sound of shuffling feet that echoed down on the lower floors. By the time they'd returned to the glass egress of the building, Parker had long since lost count of the number of rooms they'd passed.

Just as they were about to step out into the cemetery cold night, Von Doom spoke up.

"I wish you luck on your investigation, Spider-Man," he said solemnly, his face carefully barren of opinion.

Parker nodded back to him in turn. "And I wish you luck on a speedy recovery, Doctor." His eyes narrowed, scrutiny made to appear like concern. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

Von Doom's hand reached up to brush at the covered wound and a thin smile curved at his lips, twisting like a snake.

"The same thing that happens to all of us eventually, Spider-Man: an accident."

And, with that, he shut the door in their faces.

Back in his office, Dr. Von Doom picked up his glass stirrer and gave the frothing liquid several whisks. He pulled it away when the substance solidified, forming a sticky rope of black that grew firm in the cool air. Humming lowly, he penciled an adjustment to his formula, then set the vial down and reached for his office telephone.

"It's me. Spider-Man's on the case. And he has a woman with him."

Johanna rounded on him almost immediately, but Spider-Man shook his head and gestured for them to walk. It was only when they were out of view from the Laboratory that he quietly stated, "He's hiding something, I know."

It must have sounded worn, however, because, rather than being appeased, Johanna grew all the more earnest, her eyes wide and insistent.

"Reed was very careful. Yes, he liked taking risks, but they were always calculated and controlled. He would never have thrown things together if he thought there was even the slightest chance of something like that happening."

Spider-Man nodded patiently, then said, "It's not just that. The experiment he was working on, his notes. I recognised some of the formulae from Dr. Richards's papers." He pushed his hands into his pockets, glancing up at the pitch black sky. Plenty more time to ask the Captain for another favour by tomorrow morning, thankfully. "He was trying to replicate it."

Johanna's lips compressed and her eyes turned downward. "Why, though?" She looked at him from her peripherals, pupils large black dots in a sea of ice blue, "He didn't even look to believe in the possibility of it. And he wasn't getting paid to do Reed's work for him. Why waste the resources?"

A material that would morph itself to the user's every need... What did that even mean, really? Was it something as simple as elasticity, or did it extend to variables like temperature? Health?

Either way, if such a textile could actually be made, it would make its creator a very wealthy man. Wealthy enough to kill for.

"He must have been close." Spider-Man concluded, his mouth curving into a grimace. "Close to figuring out that... Magic material."

It sounded ridiculous, but he was a man who could leap onto ceilings and shoot white silk from his veins. The ridiculous, it seemed, was becoming all the more common in bustling New York, and Spider-Man wasn't sure he liked it.

"None of this makes sense," she shook her head, her shoe scuffing against the slick asphalt, "Not that I'm complaining, but Von Doom is a good scientist in his own right. He wouldn't have needed to kidnap Reed."

Her arms flew into the air suddenly, as another thought struck her, "Why would he be attempting to recreate Reed's experiment if he has him?"

Spider-Man hushed her as she her fingers pressed her hat flat on her head.

"We don't know that he does. He may not have anything to do with the Richardses' disappearance at all." He shrugged his shoulders. "It could have just been a convenience that he doesn't want us disturbing."

Johanna glared at him, incredulous, and he could sense her skepticism. He didn't blame her; it did seem highly unlikely that Dr. Von Doom was entirely uninvolved, but there was no evidence pointing he was. Honestly, Spider-Man couldn't even think up a motive for him wanting his partner gone, it wasn't like he needed the dough.

"This is such a mess," Johanna groaned to herself, "They were supposed to be friends. Or something like it. Now he may have had a hand in dynamiting their house?"

Spider-Man nodded. Cases were rarely simple, but the more they uncovered about the Richardses, the less they seemed to understand.

"I'll look into him. You should go home. It's late."

Johanna nodded reluctantly, stifling a yawn. "Need a lift?"

"Never."

She grinned and muttered what sounded like, "We'll see about that," before bidding him a good night and walking to her car. He would never tell her, but he'd webbed alongside her all the way back to Magnolia Parks, leaving only once the light of her window had come on.

He reached Captain Stacy's rooftop at about a quarter past two in the morning, long before he would be in. Pulling out the case files he'd requested for the last time that night, he hastily added a request for anything to be found on Dr. Victor Von Doom.

As he replaced the papers back to their usual place, his eyes spied Johanna's car number, written innocuously at the edge of his thank you note. He only hesitated a second before he crossed through it in two quick strokes. Anything he needed to know on Johanna Robertson, he'd find out from her.

With that done, Peter changed back to his day work clothes and headed back home, collapsing on his bed the moment his feet had touched the floor of his room. When he eventually fell asleep, his dreams were filled with fitful mirages of colourful bubbling water and the strange, heady scent of smoke and perfume.

~0~

"Good morning, Miss Brant."

Peter leaned over Elizabeth Brant's table with his most winsome smile in place, hoping she wouldn't notice the patches of shadow beneath his eyes or his paler than usual skin. The last thing he needed was to attempt to answer an assail of questions as to what had kept him up last night. Fortunately, Miss Brant didn't seem to be very interested in what he'd been doing; in fact, she hardly seemed very interested in him at all today.

"Good morning, Mr. Parker." She turned her face away to arrange a stack of papers, her voice clipped and cold like the biting December wind. "_ Mr. Parker _"? Now, that was peculiar. No matter how Peter chose to address her, Betty almost always called him by his first name. If she was adopting formalities, that meant he had mucked something up, and, if he wanted her help, then he'd best figure out a way to fix that scat.

Betty's gaze found his perplexed eyes, again, sharp beneath her arched brow. "Here to congratulate me on my engagement again?"

"What?"

That, it seemed, had been the wrong thing to say, as she tossed her hands up in the air and hissed, "Typical!" Trying to redeem the situation, Peter floundered to explain, which, naturally, made it worse.

"No, hey. I didn't meant to forget, dollface. I just... Have a lot on my mind right now."

If looks could kill, Peter was certain the one Betty fixed him with would have him dead and buried on the spot.

"I'm not engaged, Peter."

"Y- You aren't? But you just said..."

"Honestly, did you listen to a thing I said yesterday?" She snatched a pencil from her holder and began sharpening it with vehemence. Peter was half afraid she was going to make up her mind to stab him with it. As suddenly as she'd begun, she stopped and snapped her attention back to him.

"Well? Did you need something?"

A small voice at the back of his mind, one that sounded oddly like his Aunt May, told him that he should wait, try to soften her up a little before he broached the subject. Unfortunately, Peter had never been very good at following his aunt's advice.

"Actually, since you offered-"

She threw the pencil back down, and he jumped.

"Of course you did! Why else would you be here." She scribbled something down with enough passion to tear the paper apart, "Well, whatever it is, too bad. I'm not helping when the only time you ever speak to me is when you need something."

"Aw, Betts, please?"

He fixed her with a dewy eyed stare, his smile turning placating and concerned.

Betty was one of the few people he knew who understood the filing systems of the record room. If he wanted to find information on Dr. Von Doom before the day was over, he needed her help. "You're the only person I've got."

She ignored him for several minutes but, when he still didn't leave and threw her a pitiful, wide eyed expression, the hardness in her shoulders relaxed a little.

"Fine. But I'm not doing it for nothing."

"You're the best, Betts." His smile was warm and genuinely grateful, crinkling his eyes and showing the dimple at the side of his chin. "Whatever you want, it's yours."

She paused, uncertain in a way that worried him, but then lifted her chin defiantly. "Dinner."

He drew back, mildly perplexed. "You want me to make you dinner? I mean, sure, but-"

"No," she shook her head, red flowers blossoming in her cheeks, "I want to have dinner with you. Like a date. Tonight."

"Oh! Oh." Peter felt heat warm his neck, and he was certain that it spread to his ears. When had that ever been an interest of Betty Brant's? "Dinner. Right. I can do that."

Betty positively glowed, and she bounced to her feet readily.

"Good, then! What can I help you with today, Peter?"

"Uh, I need documents. Anything you can find on Dr. Victor Von Doom."

"Von Doom?" Her finger touched her chin thoughtfully, "As in the scientist? You're not writing for the science column, Peter."

The change in subject, alongside Miss Brant's always keen interest in the going on's of the office, was welcome, if not a tad bit obvious. Still, Peter clung to it like a man clutching a life buoy in a turgid river.

"Yeah, but I figured, when Mr. Jameson eventually decides that I really am a no good reporter," they shared a simultaneous eye roll, "then it'd be nice to have a shot at a different department in here. Less walking around, y'know?"

It was clear she wasn't buying what he was putting down, but she didn't press. She'd have found out eventually what he needed them for- Betty Brant always sniffed out the truth at the Bugle- and there was little point in grilling him now when she'd have all the time for that tonight. As if reading her mind, she stood and picked up the key to the records room.

"So... Be seeing you tonight?"

"You'll be seeing me earlier. I need to collect them before I head out for the day."

The coy, shy smile which had been gracing Miss Brant's lips instantly vanished into a small circle, her eyes wide.

"You mean you need those by today?"

Peter stopped and pivoted on his heels so he was facing her again, a meek, sheepish grin in place.

"I mean, if that's okay with you. Please?"

At first, she looked like she was about to argue, but then she gave a full, dramatic sigh and held a finger up to him.

"Seven thirty. Don't be late."

Turning heel, she marched away, her chin lifted high. Peter watched her until she turned the corner and disappeared from view, his head a cloud of wrangled emotions and flitting thoughts. Shaking his head, he shoved all contemplations related to Betty Brant to the back of his mind and set about typing his report from the day prior. Once word got around the office that Miss Elizabeth Brant had asked him, of all of them, out for dinner, he'd never hear the end of it. Might as well enjoy what peace he had now, even if that nagging voice warned him he'd regret not paying the matter more mind when evening hit.

As soon as he was able, Peter headed out, collecting his reports from Miss Brant before he did. He knew he was efficient, but the extent of her search in such short amount of time still astounded him.

"You deserve a raise, Miss Brant."

"I'll settle for a bowl of egg drop soup," she handed him the pile breezily, "I'll meet you at your place. Don't forget."

Somehow, he'd managed not to trip over his own feet at the sudden reminder- as if he could forget- and hurriedly stumbled out the door with a quick assurance that he wouldn't. Without any work left to distract him, his mind plagued him with mementos of his and Betty's time together, in the office and the handful of times out. No matter how many ways he twisted it, he couldn't see their relationship as anything other than friendly, but now he suppose he'd have to reconsider, simply out of respect for the old girl's courage and patience.

He was so distracted by his own mess of ideas, that he wasn't entirely sure he'd even thanked Captain Stacy for delivering the bit of information the station had on Von Doom. His lucidity only fully returned to him when he was standing directly outside Miss Robertson's apartment and heard unfamiliar hushed voices arguing within.

Peter's whole body seized as he listened close, the inflections filtering through pitched too low for Johanna. He couldn't make out what was being said, but it was clear from the snatches of words he caught that they were arguing.

"Don't know... Told him?!"

"Pipe down! Just because... Sit back and wait."

"You're nuts!"

He waited for a few more seconds, considering his recourse, but no other audible retort was made. In a split second decision, he knocked on the door loudly and announced himself. For all he knew, Johanna could have been inside, hurt or bound, and he wasn't about to waste any time letting whoever it was inside do anymore damage. To his utter surprise, however, Johanna called back.

"One second!"

Her voice was slightly strained, and it sounded furious, but she seemed unhurt. Before he could consider what that all meant, the door was wrenched aside.

Johanna stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide, filled with shock and... Fear? She blinked, though, and it was gone, smothered by a taut, uncertain smile.

"Mr. Parker."

He touched his finger to his forehead in a nod, then leaned against the frame to peer round behind her, his brow arched in concern.

"Miss Robertson. Bad time?"

She hesitated, her mouth parting, but before she could arrange her thoughts, a large hirsute hand came to press on her shoulder, pushing her aside.

"Hardly. I was just leaving."

A man who seemed the breadth of a mastodon appeared in front of Peter, and he had to step back for him to pass, the man nodding curtly to him in thanks. Most of his face was hidden by his hat and coat- was that simply a choice amongst scientists?- but, even so, Peter found no trouble in recognising him as Benjamin Grimm, the mechanic Johanna had allegedly worked with before the Richardses' untimely departure. His eyes flickered to the her, but she had her gaze, narrow and tense, trained on Grimm.

"Abysinnia, _Joanie _. "

There was something about the way he said her name and the small simper he threw her way that made the hairs at the back of Peter's neck stand, like a hound's shackles rising for a fight. Johanna's returning expression, sharp enough to cut through a glacier, didn't help ease him any, either.

"Good-bye, Mr. Grimm."

The bloke snorted through his nose then clomped down the stairs in loud, heavy feet that made the aged floorboards creak. Peter was half surprised none of them failed beneath him.

When they could no longer hear the weighty gentleman, he swung to face Johanna, who was looking significantly less harrowed without her so-called friend around anymore.

"Did something happen? Are you okay?"

Unthinkingly, he raised a hand to grasp at her shoulder. When her only reply was to blink back at him in visible surprise, he openly examined her up and down, relieved to find that she didn't seem hurt in any way he could tell.

"Peter, I'm fine. What-"

"It sounded like there was an argument."

Johanna grimaced then stepped aside to allow him in. His hand dropped to his thigh.

"Well," he asked, once the door was shut behind her, "That was Benjamin Grimm, wasn't it? Why was he here?"

It occurred to him, even as he spoke, that he didn't actually know what sort of relationship Miss Robertson had with Mr. Grimm, and that such line of questioning might be highly inappropriate and unnecessary; but it obviously hadn't been just a cordial call in. Johanna ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, going to sit on her couch before she replied.

"I wish people would stop dropping in on me," she muttered, crossing her long legs.

Her eyes remained shut for a moment, evidently working herself into a state of presence that Peter did not reciprocate, his hands planted on his hips firmly and his shoulder pulled together. Eventually, she lifted an eyelid to look at him, as though she had half expected him to vanish in those brief seconds.

"Yes," she sighed, "that was Benjamin Grimm. He saw me last night. With Spider-Man."

Peter started, nearly dropping the bundle of papers he held. Johanna lifted a hand up to stop him, her other pinching the skin between her eyebrows. Clearly, she'd been given much more of a scare by Grimm's appearance on her doorstep than she'd have liked him to believe. For her sake, he sought to calm himself and listen to what had occurred before barraging her with more questions. He set the papers down and folded his arms.

"It was just before we left the Baxter Laboratory. He saw Dr. Von Doom leading us out."

She groaned, and leaned her head back, revealing the long line of her neck. "He was worried. Afraid that I was getting into something way bigger than I knew."

Peter waited, then asked, "Did he?"

"Huh?"

"Did he say anything about the investigation? Why he was worried."

Johanna lifted her head, a hand lifting to her lip as her eyes grew lucid.

"No," she said finally, shaking her head and looking at him, "No, he just said that it was dangerous to be getting involved with Spider-Man. Although..."

Straightening in her seat, she furrowed her brows in thought and Peter held his breath, hoping for a lead.

"He did say Dr. Von Doom's been acting strange. Stranger than usual, I mean."

She turned her face up to him, serious.

"He's been visiting the lower laboratories more often, keeps looking for stronger and larger containment units. Ben didn't know what for, but he said the whole thing just gave him a bad feeling, and the farther I stayed away, the better."

Johanna shrugged. "It probably isn't related; might just be his new experiment, but it's something."

Nodding, Peter tapped his foot in short, quick beats against the floor. From the sounds of it, there wouldn't be much point in trying to get Mr. Grimm's extended cooperation, either as Peter Parker or Spider-Man; he'd dealt with enough men by this point to know when one wouldn't squeal. Moreover, Johanna, despite her earlier animosity toward Benjamin Grimm, wouldn't be very pleased with the notion of threatening her friend. She seemed to want to keep him as far away from the case as he did her.

"You didn't tell him about the Richardses' graves, did you?"

"No, of course not. He wouldn't hear anything past '_ I dug Sue up _', anyway." She frowned, her lower lip jutting out slightly, "And, wow, he really does tell you everything, doesn't he?"

"Need to know basis only." Peter picked the pile up from her coffee table, drumming his fingers on it. "And I needed to know to get these. It's everything I could find on Von Doom so far. We're gonna have to go through it to see if he's got a stake in any of this."

A wry smile crossed Johanna's lips as she patted the patch of sofa next to her. "So when he said _'I' _he really meant _'you' _, I see."

The hours crawled by at a stillwater pace as the duo perused the breadth of Dr. Von Doom's noteworthy achievements, a list that seemed to span his entire life even before he'd migrated to America.

From a young age, Victor Von Doom had caught public attention as a pharmaceutical prodigy, throwing him into international limelight at the age of ten when he'd found a cure for an epidemic that had been plaguing his tribe for months. Unfortunately, his mother had succumbed to the disease a week before Victor had perfected his solution, and that tragedy seemed to mark his future career in a way nothing that came after quite did.

All of Victor's most acclaimed triumphs were in the fields of medicine and biochemical studies; even the single report Captain Stacy had regarding the doctor was from his time at university, when he'd been charged with illegally testing his early cures on rodents. Not that much had come out of it, however, as his accomplishments made him too valuable an asset to be expelled or severely disciplined.

So, while it was clear that the Doctor did sometimes become overzealous when it came to his studies, it was difficult to find any interest he might have had in textiles, no matter how adaptable they may have been. He certainly didn't need the money- he was still receiving benefits from inventions and discoveries he'd made in his twenties. Perhaps he'd desire it for the accreditation, but there wasn't cause for him to have issue with sharing it with Dr. Richards. He'd done it before.

Not for the first time since they'd begun, Peter began wondering if there was any point to this at all. As if reading his mind, Johanna sighed from the couch opposite the one he was stretched out on. Somewhere along their reading, Peter had begun to pace around the room and resettled across her, his legs coming to hook at their ankles on the armrests.

She swung her knees down from her couch and lifted her arms above her head in a languid motion. Rubbing her eyes, she left her half of the bundle in a heap on the table and walked to the kitchen. He heard water filling cups.

A few minutes later, Johanna returned with two steaming cups, setting one down in front of him. He took his feet off the davenport to peer inside. It was hot cocoa.

"Thanks."

"Sure." She sat down beside him, pressing both her palms against her light blue mug. "Found anything yet?"

Sipping at the drink, he found it was delightfully warm and had a hint of bitterness to it, just like he liked it.

"Plenty. Did you know Dr. Von Doom was nominated for four scientific awards three years ago?"

Johanna laughed shortly, and Peter removed his glasses to wipe at them absentmindedly, the lenses having fogged in the heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, then set her cup down and folded her hands together.

"You know, I feel like I know more about Dr. Von Doom than I do about you by now."

Carefully, he replaced his frame on his nose, avoiding her eye.

"Likewise."

"Really? You didn't get an inspection like this done on me?" She gestured to the sheets strewn across the table and sofa, an entertained curve to her lips.

Peter shook his head, but didn't elaborate that it hadn't been for lack of trying. "Didn't seem to be a point."

"Huh. Well, then how about you take a guess?"

He turned to her, perplexed, and it must have shown because she grinned at him brightly before elaborating:

"We're on a break already; we might as well. Go on, then. Make a life for me, Mr. Parker."

His gaze rested on her for several long moments, and then he half laughed and shook his head.

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

She frowned and leaned back, releasing a long sigh but falling silent. Then, after a few seconds, she spoke up slowly.

"I think you used to be a copper yourself."

An eyebrow raising, he shifted his eye to her over his mug, a hint of a smile threatening to break his disinterested facade. Johanna met it, and smiled wider, sitting straight as she properly wove her hypothesis.

"Yeah, you were part of the system but you didn't like the way it was run, so you left for the job that would let you criticise it in the open: a reporter. Then Spider-Man arrived in town."

She paused for dramatic affect, and he leaned back obligingly for her to continue.

"He was everything you thought the law should've been and you wanted to help. But the only way you knew how was to keep the city from turning on him. By reporting the truth about Spider-Man."

That was... Fairly accurate. It had been the primary reason Peter had begun taking photos of the elusive Spider-Man to begin with, and what had eventually lead for Captain Stacy to allow him to continue his operations. He rested his cup on his knee and placed his chin on his palm, watching her.

"Then, one day, Spider-Man finds you and says he knows all about your old job."

There was the verisimilitude gone, then.

"He asks for your help in getting police documents and old news reports on the down low, and you do. And you never stop."

Johanna turned to him, her eyebrow raised in curious amusement. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep him from laughing in her face, but didn't try to hide his incredulous smile.

"You know I've worked for the Bugle since I was sixteen, don't you?"

Her face fell, and then he did chuckle a little, but he recovered quickly- as did she. She pulled her lips into a downward slant and glared at him through half lidded eyes, unimpressed.

"Don't suppose you're gonna let slip how you actually know Dick Spider, hm?"

"Don't suppose so, no."

Her eyes rolled, but she didn't press any further, instead choosing to drink from her still warm cup as she leaned back. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, Peter picking up the paper he'd been reading only to almost immediately grow bored of learning of yet another of the doctor's accolades, and breaking it, his eyes never leaving the page.

"Your life before Dr. Susan was dull."

Johanna's eyes slipped open, and she leaned forward a little, a small delighted smile on her face as she waited.

"You were the daughter of a wealthy businessman who moved to England to merge his company with another, subsequently meeting and marrying his wife there."

"Unfortunately, both your parents were too caught up in the family business to pay you much mind as you matured, so you decided to try your hand at it to make them see you. You got into automobiles, and found skill at it."

He paused, wondering if he'd overstepped, but Johanna only turned up a smile at him and asked, "So why'd I choose to leave with Reed and Sue, then?"

"Because- Because it didn't work. No matter how hard you worked or how good you were, they weren't about to let their socialite girl run a company and instead found your interests beneath you. So you left to be somewhere that would recognize your work."

Johanna hummed and nodded, as if she was perfectly serious in her contemplation. "You're quite the storyteller."

"I've had practice."

She chuckled, then looked him in the eye.

"It wasn't my parents who were old fashioned and English. It was my aunt. My parents died when I was little and I went to England to stay with her."

Peter blinked at her, stunned, then said, "I live with my aunt, too."

He wasn't sure why he'd told her that, outside of anything but surprise, but he instantly regretted it. It wasn't the sort of thing he was supposed to disclose, partly because of Spider-Man and partly due to how folks looked at men who hadn't come into their own yet; even if his reasons for continuing to room with Aunt May were concerns over her health rather than him just being a bum.

Rather than appearing sympathetic or derisive, however, all Johanna did was smile and seem pleasantly surprised.

"Oh? That's sweet. My aunt didn't really like having me around, so she got rid of me pretty quickly."

The tone Johanna kept was light and conversational, but Peter felt a pang of alarm and dread at her revelation. "Got rid of you?"

"Yeah, she sent me away when I turned ten. It wasn't too bad, really. I still had my inheritance, and I was picked up pretty quick."

She shrugged, unconcerned, but he felt ill. He set his cup down so he wasn't in danger of dropping it. Or crushing it into shards between the hot pressure of his fingers.

"Why did she even take you in?"

"I suppose she felt guilty. My parents died in a crash, you see, and she was the only relative I had."

Johanna's smile was calm enough, but there was a layer of unspoken bitterness to it, an old wound that hadn't quite healed no matter how long ago it had been. Peter bowed his head, his eyes studying the floor between their feet.

"A crash... Is that why you started working on cars?"

"In part. It was also because I just couldn't wait to get away. To take a car and drive all the way to France or something. That's what I used to dream of."

She blinked the far off look away from her eyes and gave a small shrug, her fingers intertwining around her mug as she lifted it up. "But here I am. Back exactly where I started in good ol' New York. With less than I had before."

The ceramic tipped until she had drunk every last drop, then she stood to wash up. When she returned, it was to her couch, picking up the papers and crossing her legs once again. She didn't look at him, didn't ask for sympathy or answers. She'd only wanted him to know, so she'd gone ahead and said so. Peter watched her for several heartbeats, then took a breath.

"When I was fifteen, my Uncle Ben, was done in by one of the Goblin's men. I found his body."

Johanna's movements stilled, then she looked to him, her blue eyes sad and quiet. He pushed on, meeting them, unyielding.

"People knew what had happened, but they were all too afraid to do a thing about it. I wasn't, and it should've got me killed, but it took my mentor instead."

"Peter-"

"I would've stopped, but then Spider-Man came, and he showed all of us that things could change. If only someone, one person, would step up and speak out."

He fell silent, holding her gaze in his eyes, like a flower taken root in earth. For a moment, neither of them said a word, their breaths, even and deep, matched in the waning sunlight. Then, finally, she softly spoke, "You didn't have to tell me that."

Peter broke their wreathed gazes, but still felt hers on his hair, his shoulders. "I know."

"Thank you." He lifted his head. She was smiling now, faint but beautiful in the quiet. "For everything. You aunt must be proud."

He nodded, then swallowed the rest of his drink, moving to go wash his cup.

"You can just leave it there. I'll get it."

"I would, but my aunt wouldn't be so proud of me then."

Her laughter rang in peals from the living room and he smiled as he covered his hands in soap spuds. Upon drying the cup, he returned to find her idly flipping through the remaining papers, of which, he was pleased to note, there didn't appear to be many.

As he was about to sit and continue his own reading, he spied the time piece hanging over the doorway, and shot to his feet.

"Damn," he exclaimed, then immediately threw Johanna a guilty look. She pulled herself up, and frowned at him curiously.

"I'm supposed to have dinner with a friend in an hour."

"A friend," she echoed, her mouth curving with her brow, thoroughly gratified, "I didn't know you had a girl, Mr. Parker."

"I don't." He scrambled to pick up his things while trying to get his clothes straight, neither of which worked out quite so well when tried simultaneously. "I mean, she's a girl, but she isn't _my _girl."

"Anything you say, Mr. Parker. But tell me one thing."

Turning, he came face to face with her, the news articles from her end pressed into his chest. His hand rose to take them dumbly as she stepped back, openly eyeing him from head to toe. He swallowed, dry.

"Are you honestly taking her out dressed like that?"

Whatever odd sensation had been building in his stomach promptly vanished as he scowled and she smiled.

"Well, I don't have time to change, so I guess I am."

Johanna rolled her eyes, and held her palms open toward him. After a moment's worth of confusion, he set the papers down in her fingers, and she put them on the table.

"I'm not asking you to change, though it would be nice."

She reached out to press the collar of his shirt between her hands, somehow getting them to stay flat before moving to straighten his tie. Without thinking it, he sucked in a quiet breath, inhaling her strange silvery smell.

"But at least tuck in your shirt and comb your hair."

As suddenly as she'd touched him, she pulled away, gathering the stack in her arms. Slightly dumbfounded, he ran his fingers through her hair, but, from her amused, exasperated expression, he'd done more harm than good.

"This is as good as it's getting, I'm sorry."

Her lips quirked as she rolled her eyes, thrusting the bundle back to him.

"Well, come on, then. It won't do for you to be late."

Before he could argue, she'd plucked her keys from the table and sauntered out the door. A brief glance to the clock overhead told him that he didn't have the time to contest it, anyway, and he nimbly sprang after her.

~0~

They pulled up outside the Bowery Welfare Centre with fifteen minutes to spare; Peter both relieved and disappointed when they did. He hadn't wanted to keep Betty waiting, but the idea of having Aunt May quiz him on why he hadn't brought the "wonderful girl" she was indubitably going to be dubbed over more often was a deterrent in itself. With a huff, he turned gratefully to Johanna, finding her looking past him and down the driveway outside.

At first, he thought she might have been passing judgement in her head- what was there to think about a man living in a shelter, anyway?- but then she asked, "Is that her?"

Peter turned sharply to look behind him, unbuckling his belt as he did, and, sure enough, there was Betty Brant, looking stunning in a floral chiffon dress, her dark brown hair crimped and styled. He stopped in his tracks and Johanna laughed airily behind him.

"Wow, Peter, if she really isn't your girl then it isn't for lack of trying."

Though the urge to deny any such sentiment rose in him again, it felt pointless to argue this time; if Betty hadn't been perfectly clear with her intentions that afternoon, she was transparent now. If Aunt May spotted her, he wasn't going to hear the end of it till next week at least.

Spinning back round to Johanna, he said a frantic goodbye and thanks, nearly throwing himself out of the car in his haste. She grinned and waved, teasingly wishing him luck before driving down the lane, leaving him alone to confront Betty for the night.

Undoing the gate and jogging up the pavement to his house- and the city's finest charity establishment-, Peter brushed Betty's elbow just as she'd been about to ring.

"Peter!" She exclaimed, a wide, pleased grin spreading across her face as she temped down her surprise.

"Hi, Betty. You're looking swell. Hey, since we're both here, why don't we call a cab and head out early?"

Her hands folded across her chest as she listened to his rush, eyes slowly widening in amusement and disbelief. Once he was done, she gave him a funny little smile and coolly said, "Oh, that won't be necessary."

Peter's blood froze.

"Y'see, you're always so busy, Peter. I figured it'd be most convenient for you if we just ate at your place."

He was saying something. His head hadn't quite followed with what it was, but Peter was sure he was saying words.

"You don't have to worry about that. I rang your Aunt up in the afternoon. She's very excited." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and simpered sweetly at him, her eyes as sharp as darts.

"Great." His voice said and his lips stretched into a flat smile. "That's really great."

Dinner was... Not as bad as Peter had dreaded it to be. The first portion of the evening was spent helping Aunt May serve dinner to the night's patrons; an act that Betty had thrown herself into readily, chatting with the people and serving with a genuinely cheery smile. Just having her around brightened the mood tenfold, and Aunt May seemed to be more interested in her than the why's and how's Peter knew of her.

When everyone else had been taken care of and the three of them sat down to have their own supper, Betty took charge of the conversation by asking Aunt May about her socialist activities- a topic that could carry her attention for an hour at least. It was like she'd always been a part of their evenings, helping out and buzzing with life and vivacity. Peter didn't even mind when the subject shifted to his childhood exploits, ducking his head in embarrassment while the dames laughed at his expense.

When the doorbell rang, none of them were expecting it.

"I'll get it," Peter volunteered to the jiving comments that he was trying to escape. He opened the door chuckling, but it died on his lips the moment he saw who it was.

In a flash, it was like he was pulled eight months back, caught up in a mystery that had taken two of the people he loved from his life in two very different ways and altering his view of New York forever. He felt a grip as cold and unrelenting as death clutch around his heart as he breathed out the man's name.

"Lippy."

Lippy, Felicia Hardy's devoted hatchet man, had his hands folded on his waist, his feet as heavy as his eyes. He tipped his head at Peter, but made no move to shake his hand. Peter was speaking before he'd even knew it, his eyes frantic with a worry he shouldn't have been allowed to anymore; not after what he'd done.

"Is this about Felicia? Is she all right?"

"She's fine. She wants to see you again. Tonight."

Peter stopped short, his mind a blank parchment. The last time he'd seen Felicia, well... He hadn't. She'd been unequivocal about her intentions to never meet with him again, and Peter had accepted it without question. Involving her in Spider-Man's mission had been a mistake on both their parts, a virulent error she'd paid the price for, and one he was certain she'd never make again.

Yet here was the very man who'd delivered her decree, telling him she'd changed her mind.

Against his innermost desires, Peter wouldn't believe him at face value, couldn't shake the skepticism his work had taught him to trust.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"She says she has a message. For Spider-Man. Come to the Black Cat at eleven o'clock, and bring your new flirt with you."

Peter's skin felt as cold and taut as ice, and he glanced inside where the chattering voices of Aunt May and Betty seeped through, carried on the winds of carefree laughter.

"Betty?"

"The blond one."

Johanna. He was about to press further, ask how Felicia had even known about her, let alone that she'd been around Spider-Man, but Lippy turned away, about to disappear into the misty night. It made no difference to him whether Spider-Man came or not. Before he walked down the street, though, he took a final glance back.

"By the way, it's egg harbor night. So if you're coming, dress the part."

Peter didn't reply, just watched Lippy until he could no longer. He shut the door and returned to the table, but his mind had followed the brute back to the Black Cat. Back to Felicia.

He didn't know what to think.

Back when he and Felicia had been... Involved, there was almost nothing he wouldn't have trusted her with. Even when she seemed to be playing games only she knew the rules of, and was constantly two steps ahead of him, he trusted her with his secret and his life. It had paid off then, but now he wasn't so sure.

He'd been at liberty to play Felicia's games in the past, the only person he'd been endangering- the only person he _should _have been endangering- was himself. But now she'd asked for Johanna and Peter wasn't sure he could afford that.

What if this was just another of her games? A test to see if the little spider would still go running at the cat's paw even months after? All those years of toying with him, of hurting and protecting him... Who had she done that for? Him, as he'd convinced himself so long ago? Or herself, for the power and control over the city she'd gained from having the Spider in her palm?

His gaze lifted to Betty, laughing and smiling and real. He knew he should stay, put Felicia out of his mind and remain with his aunt and friend for just one night. Hold on to the few people in his lives who loved him beyond the veiled night, rather than chase for forgiveness he wasn't even sure he would receive. Or accept.

Yet, even as his thoughts grew dark and unsure, like a beacon slicing through smoke, his faith for her, the undying flame of his old affection, burned true.

Was it love, really? Or some perversion of it born of guilt and regret? It mattered not. He knew his path, and so did she.

"Sorry," Peter interrupted, his words as heavy as his heart. Aunt May looked to him, and she seemed to know before another word left his lips, but he continued anyway.

"Sorry, something's come up. I have to leave."

"Peter, you have a guest!"

"No, it's all right," Betty said, intervening before the cold in Aunt May's eyes could grow into a blizzard. She smiled at her, then turned to Peter, her pupils searching his for some sort of explanation. He looked away.

"It's about time I was leaving, anyway." She stood, her voice betrayed nothing, but he could feel the hurt radiating from her. "Would you mind walking me to the bus stop?"

"Sure." Then he stopped, his eyes widening as Betty took a sharp breath. He met her deep brown eyes, and forced a smile. "I just need to make a telephone call, first."

"Oh." The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little, but she still had her fingers clasped white together. "Sure. That gives me time to help your aunt with the dishes."

Peter nodded, apologetic, then rose to dart down the stairs. As he jogged away, he heard Aunt May apologise quietly on his behalf and had to swallow the sharp taste of remorse that stung in his throat.

By some miracle of chance, the line to Magnolia Parks connected, and Peter found himself briefly speaking with a tired, scratched up voice that sounded like sandpaper before Johanna's telltale inflection echoed in his ear.

"Peter?"

"Spider-Man." He lowered his voice, glancing to the staircase, where he could hear the clattering of dishes and running water. "We've been invited for dinner. I think it's a lead."

"I- Wait, invited? Is that safe?"

"I trust the source." It felt foolish, how true that was. "And it's the best we've got so far."

There was a short pause from the other end, a breath taken in and held.

"Okay. When and where?"

"In half an hour. I'll come to you."

He set the phone down before she could say anything else. The sounds from upstairs had ceased, and there were two sets of footsteps creaking the boards. Peter turned just as Aunt May escorted Betty down, their arms hooked round one another's.

May threw him a critical glare which said all that she would no doubt reiterate verbally once he returned. Betty only gave him a small smile, then turned to his aunt, moving in for a hug.

"I had a great time tonight, May. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely."

"Of course, dear. Come back anytime."

She scowled over Betty's shoulder as she emphasised the last word and he drew his brows together in a silent plea.

"Well, then. I should be off."

Betty grinned and gave her a small wave, then sailed out the door. Not waiting for castigation, Peter raced after her, wincing against the biting air.

The walk to the bus stop was long and quiet, Betty staying a constant five steps ahead of him, her hands swinging by her side. Even when they arrived at the empty, frozen seats, she said nothing, and he kept his distance. Eventually, however, he knew he had to say something.

"Betty, I-"

"Save it, Peter."

A deep, tired sigh fell her shoulders, and she turned her head to look at him, her obstinate smile tight and shaky. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, swallowing a couple of times before she continued.

"I did have a good time tonight, y'know?"

He waited, but she just held his eye until he answered, "I did, too."

"Yeah? That's good."

She blew into her palms and rubbed them together hard. Peter pushed his into his pockets, wishing he'd brought gloves.

"I'm sorry for forcing this on you, by the way."

His head snapped up. She turned away.

"I don't really know why I did, I just thought that..."

A laugh, quick and sharp like the snap of a twig.

"I don't know what I thought."

Behind them, the bus slowly careened down, wheels moving slow in the winter winds. Peter moved closer to her, unsure with what he was going to do, but feeling it necessary, nevertheless.

"I'm really sorry, Betty."

"You always are, Peter." She chuckled, and it sounded warmer now, certain in its being. Leaning in as the bus pulled up beside them, it's frosty doors swinging open for it's singular passenger, Betty pressed her lips to his cheek.

"I'll see you at work. Try not to keep your aunt waiting."

He watched the bus shuffle down the street in silence, until the very top of its cream hood was hidden by the bend. In the very next second, he was gone, leaving only his footprints behind.

~0~

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight," Johanna said, flushed, as she ran up to him outside her flat. She was wearing a nicer coat than usual, one with a faux fur collar, and had traded her cartwheel for a cloche with satin trimmings. It wasn't the swankiest set of gladrags he'd seen, but it would do for the Black Cat crowd. It was better than what he'd done, in any case.

She stopped when she was close enough to make him out beneath the dim glow of the street light, and he tilted his head in inquiry.

"Did you make a bow tie?"

Behind his mask, he frowned, and touched his fingers to the web construction around his neck. Lippy had said to dress the part and his suit had looked better with a bow than a four in one; though, from the barely withheld grin on her face, he wondered if he shouldn't have tried at all.

"We don't have time for this, let's go."

"No, wait," she caught his elbow and turned him around. "It's crooked."

He stared straight ahead as she worked her deft fingers, pulling away the second she had stilled them. Then he remembered he wasn't supposed to know where she hid her tin can. "Where'd you park it?"

She arched a brow at him, her eyes searching as she rested her palms on her hips. "I thought you'd never need a lift."

"The tip was for both of us. It'd be safer if we went together."

"So you say, but you're still dressed like that," Johanna muttered, but she pushed past him toward the end of the lane.

The Black Cat was one of the most renowned speakeasies in the city, hosting both criminals and do-gooders alike, so long as they knew to pay their bills and keep their trouble away from it. With Spider-Man, that had never been an option and he doubted that much had altered in the months since he'd visited.

He went around the side of the building, careful to keep to the shadows, far away from the prying eyes of the few who were still sober enough to recognise him, and found the fire escape to be let down. Ensuring they weren't seen, he pushed Johanna up ahead of him before climbing up himself.

The first thing to hit them when they entered was the smooth vocals of a canary singing her tune below them, her voice as sweet and heavy as thick cream. The second floor, where they'd emerged from, was fortunately dark and empty, most of the gin mill's nightly partisans mixing cement at the dance downstairs. Keeping his head low, Spider-Man took a table at the far corner of the room, where the only other folk were those knocked out from their gallons of hooch.

As always, the inside of the Black Cat was a symphony of lights and colours, of hanging chandeliers and velvet carpets meant to blind its customers to the misery outside and smother away their worries. There was a cloying bouquet sweetening the air, a testament to the quality of drink Hardy served and to the preeminence she expected of those who visited. If you were gonna behave like a genius, you could drink the dog soup the rest of the city settled with, but stay away from her establishment.

No wonder he'd been turned away.

"It's beautiful," Johanna breathed opposite him, her attention on the activity she watched from the embellished baluster. Spider-Man only grunted in turn, his own eyes fixed to the winding steps he knew lead to Felicia's chambers. It was four minutes to eleven; she'd be down anytime now.

"You've been quiet the whole way here," Johanna observed, turning to look at him, a frown in place. "What's the matter?"

He said nothing for several moments, his gaze still locked on the empty steps. In a few moments, Felicia would descend in a mask that he had forced her into through his own carelessness; a carelessness that could lead to Johanna suffering the same fate. She deserved to know, yet the thought of revealing one of his greatest routs left him with a cold, sinking feeling in his gut.

"Spider?"

Her expression had turned concerned, a softer air to her eyes, quiet and kind in the cacophony and scintillating mock aristocracy of the room. Tentatively, her fingers fell on his arm, as light as mist.

He looked from her hand to her eyes, and held them.

"The person we're waiting for, she-"

Felicia emerged at the head of the staircase, her hand wrapped around Lippy's arm. Peter remembered a time when her simple arrival could make the whole room turn, but now, with her porcelain vizard hiding her face, the rule seemed to have shifted to the very opposite. The few people who had turned had hurriedly dipped their heads, determinedly returning to their conversations and drinking. All, of course, except Peter.

She was still beautiful, he thought, all angular features and silvery hair that spun her like a cut diamond. Her movements were as fluid and elegant as he remembered them, light footfalls that floated her down the steps, the hem of her silk dress pooling around her, a flower in bloom.

"Felicia," he said when she stopped in front of them, almost forgetting himself and standing to greet her. Lippy held his hand out as he pulled a seat for her.

"Miss Hardy will only speak to me."

Spider-Man stared, before looking to the masked woman, but she didn't meet his gaze. Swallowing his pride, he sat further back in his seat and nodded. Beside him, Johanna was studying her, glancing between them occasionally.

Felicia leaned in closer to Lippy, lifting a hand to whisper in his ear. He nodded, then directed his gaze to Johanna.

"Is this your new flame, then?"

Johanna parted her lips, a slight glare creasing her demeanor, but he interrupted her before she could say anything.

"My client. Why have you called us here, Felicia?"

Even through the mask, he could tell she was smiling that old, infuriating smile of hers; one that spoke of a million unearthed secrets and unspoken truths to be morphed to her liking. She whispered to Lippy again, who complied, as he always did.

"There was a conversation Miss Hardy overheard yesterday between two of our, ah... Less reputable customers."

"Mobsters." He filled, the scowl he wore deepening, "What does that have to do with me?"

Felicia's fingers rapped on the tabletop, annoyed, but, still, she refused to meet his gaze. Lippy continued.

"They were talking about 'Spider-Man getting involved' and needing to move things along. Said they'd meet here to pass on the goods."

Rising to her feet, Felicia moved to the handrail and pointed out a man sitting at a table in the corner. There was a bag by his feet.

"We need to get hold of it."

"Without causing a ruckus." Lippy growled, Felicia returning to her chair, her legs crossing as she rested her chin on her fingers, watching him. "I won't have you dirtying up the Cat just because you can't figure out a case."

Johanna, who up till that point had resigned herself to listening in silence, suddenly spoke up.

"That's why you asked me here, isn't it? To help him get the bag?"

Felicia turned to her, her eyes glittering like sapphires. Slowly, she nodded and Peter immediately shook his head, his gaze tearing from Felicia's visage at last and pinning to hers.

"You can't. It's much too dangerous."

If he expected anger, he found it, but it was layered beneath patience and an unshakeable resolve.

"This whole case has been dangerous, but we're so close to some proper answers now. I have to." She smiled at him then, faint but there. "Besides, you'll be looking out for me, won't you?"

He faltered, wordless air leaving his lungs. Having Johanna distract the bloke until he could reach the bag was probably their best bet, but they didn't know anything about him. He could've been packing heat or been way off his rocker, and Spider-Man may not be close enough to save her. Johanna let her smile slip, and lowered her voice firmly.

"I told you when I first met you that I would do anything to find Sue. Let me do this."

Her hands came to rest on his, and she squeezed them tight, her eyes burning. He knew he wouldn't have been able to stop her then, and, slowly, he said, "If you ever think something may be wrong, you yell. I'll be right there for you. I promise."

Her lips curved.

"I know you will."

And, with that, she was off, dancing down the steps as quick as a spark. He turned back to Felicia, his own eyes filled with a heat very different from Johanna's.

"If anything happens to her..."

Felicia lifted her chin, then waved Lippy away. Peter didn't let her see how that affected him, his hot gaze unwavering.

"You always did like the strange birds."

Her voice was silken and husky, like the burn of bourbon down your throat. It was precisely how he remembered it, touched by the same mocking inflection he could never shake from his mind. His frown deepened and she waved him aside with a scoff.

"She'll be fine. She looks smart enough."

Peter turned to where her eyes had drifted and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Johanna had removed her coat, leaving her in a luxurious scarlet evening gown that clung at her trim waist and cut low along her back, her shoulders and arms left bare. The cloth fell like water over her body, emphasising her every curve and slender limbs, the shape of her long legs delineated in striking red. As she chatted the man up, her fingers toyed at crystal choker clasped around her neck, glistening attractively in the yellow light.

Every inch of her glowed, and Peter had to force himself to look away, her hazy reflection staying behind his eyelids even then. Felicia studied him carefully, but said nothing. Below them, the saxophonist blew the brass beginning of a new rag.

"Why are you helping me, Felicia?" He said at last, his eyes looking at the edges of her mask, framed by the wispy waves of her hair, flowing like pine leaves in a moonlit river.

She shrugged her shoulders and turned to face the railing, watching as the new pairs of dancers trailed onto the floor, their bodies pressed flushed to one another.

"I don't know, Peter. Maybe it's because I still care."

_About him _, he wanted to ask, _about the city and the accursed number of folks that were hurt and murdered everyday _? What did Felicia Hardy care about? After all this time, he still couldn't say for sure.

But, before he could say a word, Felicia was looking back to him, her gaze suddenly cold.

"Or maybe it's because I can't stand to see another girl hurt because of Spider-Man."

The pain seared through his head three seconds before the air where he'd been seated burned, a gunshot breaking through the night.

Peter reared around and shot a web at the shooter, clogging the muzzle. He swung to look for Felicia, but both she and Lippy were gone. With a curse, he swung for the hit man, kicking him square in the teeth.

The Black Cat was in chaos, screaming and thundering feet echoing all around him. He threw the brute aside, searching for Johanna through the crowd. Another man, hidden in the pandemonium, took another shot at him, but he dodged the bullet easily.

Johanna. He had to find Johanna.

He raced up the wall, eyes scanning the floor for red and finding the second hatchet man. The crack of his bones was drowned by repeated shots, drilling holes into the plaster. If they kept fighting in here, innocent folk would be injured, but he couldn't leave without her. Then, suddenly, he spotted her.

Right as the gun fired.

Time seemed to slow as Spider-Man lunged for her, his webbing stretching out in a thin feeble thread for the pill. His heart was hammering in his ears. He heard his voice scream. Felt his throat burn.

He wasn't going to make it.

She was going to die.

His web missed the bullet by millimeters and it shot straight for her head. Her blue eyes found him as her arms clutched tighter to the damned brown case that had brought them here to begin with. The bullet was a hair away from her ear.

Then it disintegrated in blue flame.

Spider-Man landed in a roll next to her, grabbing her by the waist and dragging her close. He shot at the man who'd tried to take her life, the very man she'd been speaking to, and slammed him into his fist. He relished the feeling of his bones shattering beneath his knuckles.

"The bullet-"

She flung her arms around him, the briefcase pressed between them. "Go!"

He didn't need to be told twice. Webbing up to the ceiling, he threw them both out the window, his string of web finding hold in the next rafter. Down below, the trigger men had struggled through the crowd, a few of them firing up their tin cans to follow after them.

"Wait, they'll be looking for you up here," Johanna shouted over the whistling winds.

"What do you suggest?!"

"Drop us down in an alleyway somewhere close. Trust me!"

It didn't sound like the smartest idea, but their lead wouldn't remain for much longer, and he wasn't sure he could trust himself to keep them from being filled with daylight while swinging around with her. And he did trust her. So he did as she asked, and leapt into a quiet alley two streets away, the sounds of the commotion still reverberating through the air.

"Now what?"

Johanna kicked the briefcase deeper into the shadows and shoved him against the wall, her arms circling his neck.

He froze.

She muttered something about it being the wrong way, and turned them over, so her back was pushed up against the bricks. Impatient, she guided his left hand to her waist and pressed the other flat by her head. Pulling her face close to his, her lips by his ear, she hooked a leg up his thigh and took his hat off to shield their faces.

For a moment, the world went silent; his mind narrowing to just the two of them, his nose in her hair, his fingers on her hip; the feeling of tracing sharp bone beneath the slick of silk. His skin felt electric.

A car skidded past them, and Johanna's grip tightened around his neck, her arm tensing. A few moments later, the raucous shouts of goons waving heaters preceded them, their footsteps pausing momentarily as they caught sight of them.

Johanna moaned loudly, and heat surged through his body.

The men scoffed in disgust, before racing away to continue their fruitless search. It took minutes for the road to grow quiet once more, the only sounds to be heard their breathing and skipping heartbeat.

"How many times have you tried that?"

His voice was husky, low, tinged with something he would not acknowledge.

"Including that?"

She was breathless, exhilarated.

"Yes."

Neither of them moved away.

"Once."

He pulled back so he was looking into her eyes, as bright and mischievous as the shifting stars above. Sheepishly, she shrugged, but her pleased grin stayed and, inexplicably, he began to laugh.

His body shook as he rested his forehead on her shoulder, sheer, delighted gasps that worked through his chest and stomach. Through his muffled mirth, he was aware of Johanna doing the same, her fingers curling at the base of his head. After several moments, they fell hush and halcyon, and he moved back to stare at her.

His hands were still on her waist, hers stayed around his neck, and, suddenly, the silence was deafening.

She was close enough for him to see the flecks of gold in her eyes and the pale freckles that peppered her cheeks. He felt his chest rise and fall against the front of her dress. They weren't smiling anymore.

"We should go."

"Why?"

Her face fell, and she forced herself to look away, her eyes falling half shut as she bit on her lower lip. Slowly, her hands loosened from his neck, but, still, she kept them there. When she met his eye again, she was smiling, but it was wistful and melancholic.

"You don't know who I am. Not really."

"Neither do you."

She laughed again at that, briefly. Her arms left his body, and she pushed his hands from hers, gently securing his hat back on his head.

"You're not the only one who's observant, Peter."

His name felt cold and stinging on her lips, but, somehow, he wasn't surprised. Stepping back, he draped his coat over her shoulders, ignoring her protests. He picked up the discarded bag and turned back to her.

"Come on. Let me see you home."

While they were only feet apart, the distance between them suddenly felt like leagues. After a second's hesitation, Johanna nodded and they walked, years apart, back to her car.

~0~

Magnolia Parks was on fire.

Johanna screeched to a halt before they both leapt out of the car, thick smokestacks curling blacker than the night. There was a group of people outside, dressed in night gowns and ratty pajamas, watching the raging blaze hopelessly.

One of them, a blond haired man holding a Tommy, turned when he heard them, his eyes going wide as he saw Johanna.

"Johanna? Oh, thank God. I couldn't find you anywhere."

His voice identified him as the man Peter had spoke to before, and the manager of the apartment. Johanna stared, horrified, at the fire, her eyes wide and distraught. She couldn't speak.

"Some hoodlums came and threw a firecracker through your window. I caught one of them in the leg, but he got away. I'm sorry."

"Is there anyone still inside?"

If he was surprised by the appearance of Spider-Man, the man hid it well. He shook his head, then turned back to Johanna.

Peter had his eyes on the fire. It would take everything, but at least it wouldn't consume lives. With a start, he thought back to what Felicia had said before hell broke loose. If Johanna had been in there, she would have died.

"Johanna, what-?!"

He tore his eyes from the fire, right as Johanna ran into the building. Swearing, he threw the case to the manager- "Keep this safe!"- and rushed after her.

The heat was unbearable, sweltering at his skin and licking at his shoes. The building was collapsing around them, and he couldn't see a thing past all the smoke that had gotten trapped inside. He covered his mouth, coughing violently as he chased after Johanna, webbing to whatever structure could take it.

"Johanna! Johanna, we have to go!"

He was reaching her room, where the worst of the flames raged, uncontrolled and lashing out like whipped hounds. As he pushed as far as he could, a rising panic built in him, the acrid taste of bile coating his throat. There was no way she had managed to enter her room, yet her hat lay burning to ash right at her doorway. If she had entered her room, she would be as good as dead.

"_ Johanna _!"

Peter wasn't sure what happened next.

One moment, he'd been close to being broiled alive by the heat and his own desperate foolishness, the next, he'd heard a strange sucking noise and the fire had all but evaporated. The only sign of it was from the room itself, where a bright glow that lit the entire hall was emanating from.

Slowly, he walked towards it, shielding his eyes from the light, until he'd seen her.

Or, rather, seen _him _.

Standing in the center of the room, all of him alight in tongues of crimson and gold, was Johnny Storm. At his feet lay a smouldering ruin of red, and, in his hands, an untouched photograph. When he turned to face him, Peter knew he should have felt fear.

But all he felt was relief.

"You should've stayed outside," Johnny said calmly, allowing his voice to come the way it usually must have, a lustrous tenor. "You could've been hurt."

The flames embracing him rose high, and Peter could feel the heat from them, but Johnny seemed unaffected.

"I thought- how?"

His head dipped, his lower lip catching as it always did when he was irresolute, and, abruptly, the relief Peter had felt was gone. Now, all he knew was a fierce, consuming anger.

"You- this whole time?!"

Accusations and abuse curdled in his mind, spilling out of his mouth in half formed insults and questions before he could think them complete. Johnny held his hands up appeasingly, and, for reasons alluding Peter, he listened.

"I know, and I will explain. But, for now, I need to dispel this heat."

With that, he soared out of the window, leaving Peter in a sea of wreckage. When, dumbfounded, he returned to the entrance of the building, a hundred confused but grateful people crowded at him, and he pushed them all aside.

"Where's Johanna?" Asked the blond man when he retrieved the bag.

"Hospital." He grunted without thought. If Johnny Storm didn't provide answers, he certainly would be.

The sky flashed overhead, and the man frowned.

"Well, we can't stay here. I'm gonna find these people shelter."

Spider-Man said nothing, just webbed up to the roofs to wait, as the crowd below him gradually diminished. Just to be certain, he opened the case and, as he'd expected, it was filled with packets of white powder. Several ounces of Cadillac, he suspected. Felicia never did like the Cat being used to hide filth. Pushing it onto him was a sure way to get rid of it, though she'd probably told them differently.

It wasn't long till a streak of fire soared across the sky, like a descending comet, and landed by his side.

Johnny stared at him in silence for a while, Spider-Man's coat draped over him, not a single thread of it singed, much like the photo he held in his fingers. His own clothes had been burnt in his fire, it seemed, as had his wig and the make up.

In the faint glow of the buzzing street lights and the glimmering stars above, every feature that had looked so strangely magnetic on Johanna Robertson came to completion on Johnny Storm. His high, defined cheekbones, the slant of his brow, and his long, straight nose all felt apollonian now, set below short waves of gold that were darker than the pale tresses he'd wore. It was easy to see how the man had once been a film star darling, and all the anger Peter had been holding bubbled up again, but now tinged with pain.

He couldn't care how Johnny Storm could turn himself into a blazing inferno, or that he'd kept that a secret from him. His most pressing questions were for Johanna Robertson.

"Was everything a lie, then?"

Peter tore his mask off because, if Johnny Storm wanted to take him for a ride, it might as well have been with the man he'd been playing for a fool the entire time.

"All of that talk about your parents crash and your aunt. All just a game?"

A sick, sardonic smile had twisted his lips, and Peter was sure that he came close to laughing, but Johnny seemed far from amused. Good. That meant he felt even a fraction of what Peter did.

"None of that was a lie. I never lied to you unless I could help it, Peter."

"Unless you could help it?!" His voice rose like a crack of thunder, and he knew he should've been quieter, but he couldn't seem to stop. "You didn't have to lie to me at all!"

"Didn't I?"

Now Johnny was yelling, too, which was just aces; it made him feel better.

"Some crazy actor turning up at your doorstep because he can't take care of his own family. Would you have paid that any mind?"

Peter halted and Johnny continued his tirade, storming closer as he spoke.

"Did you think this was easy for me? Fun, perhaps? You think Johnny Storm hadn't approached a hundred other flatfoots and coppers begging for help only to be turned away because 'a man's family is his own responsibility'?"

His finger was a centimeter away from Peter's chest now, and he could see the hurt shine in his eyes.

"And, even if you had agreed, how was I supposed to know you wouldn't just sell me out, hm? Some madcap superstar you could exploit for the papers. Bet the Bugle would pay loads for that."

Peter stared at him as Johnny deflated, his hand falling to his side with his infuriated gaze.

"You don't know anything about me, Parker. So don't go round acting like you do."

They stood like that for a couple of seconds, the only sound passing between them being the cold wind. Peter didn't know what to say; he barely knew what to think.

He knew what it must've sounded like; some hotshot celebrity marching into an office and disrupting work as some ridiculous show of power, spouting claims that were too ludicrous to be true. There wasn't any way he could've shown them his powers, too, or they'd have shipped him right back to Baxter Labs for curing, or testing. Then there was the fact that, no matter how minor an actor he may have been, he had money to take, and very few people could be trusted to resist such an easy target.

But then Johnny had gone to him and taken him for a ride, and Peter didn't know how he could be expected to trust him after that. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, the scarves and thick coats, the low seated hats, the soot on his windowsill...

The firmness of his body pressed flush to him.

Peter shook the thought from his mind, he didn't want to- couldn't afford to- entertain it now. Whatever he'd felt for Johanna Robertson, he'd have to be rid of it, even when it still burned strong in him now. He looked to Johnny, who was looking at the building below, once his home.

He felt dread pool in his stomach. He hadn't even considered what Johnny might have lost in the fire.

"You're right, Mr. Storm," Peter said, before he could think the better of it. Johnny glanced up at him, from below the shadow of his long lashes, and Peter felt his heart ache. "I don't know anything about you. So tell me."

He turned to the decrepit wreck of broken walls and smoke. Funny how buildings all tended to look the same once you broke them down to their core.

"But not tonight. Did you lose anything important in there?"

Johnny didn't answer immediately, but then shook his head.

"No. The only thing of value to me was this."

He held out a photograph of two young children, both fair haired and bonnie. If he hadn't known better, Peter might have thought it to be Johnny and Johanna, but he could see the resemblance between the Storm siblings as clear as he did at the Richardses. He nodded.

"You should stay at the Bowery Centre tonight. It's not safe for you anywhere else."

Johnny's eyes grew wide, and he looked like he was about to ask him something, but Peter cut in.

"I don't know where we stand, Mr. Storm. I'm only doing this so you won't be killed."

With that, he leapt off the building and swung for his home. He didn't need to check that Johnny was following.

Neither said a word when Peter helped him set up a spare room, moving on light steps so as to not wake his aunt. Before he closed the door behind him, Johnny handed Spider-Man's coat back to him, and Peter caught a glimpse of fair skin stretched taut over sinewy muscle. He looked away quickly, and reminded himself to leave a set of clothes for Johnny outside.

It wasn't till he had slumped in his own bed, his warm coat pulled over his head, that he recalled the sheets of paper he'd webbed to its inside. Carefully, as only he seemed able to do, he pried the sheets out to put them away, but, as he did, he spied curlique lettering fading at the edges of the paper. Peter stared at the new handwriting gradually disappearing, and things clicked in place.

Heat activated invisible ink. He'd heard of it being used during the Great War, but he'd never supposed...

Shaking his head, Peter set the papers aside. He'd look at it in the morning, when he didn't feel quite so confused or drained. For a very long time, all he did was stare at the murky shifting shadows on his ceiling, contorting and morphing into unknowable forms and forgotten memories. When he did eventually slip into the embrace of sleep, his dreams were filled with the visage of a woman, though he would not remember who.

~0~

Peter awoke with bright sunlight streaming into his eyes, and the sounds of voices chattering downstairs. At first, he lay there for a minute, his body aching in a way it hadn't in years. Then, as thoughts from the night before sank in, his eyes snapped wide and he sprung out the door.

"... Can't believe what that must've been like!"

That was his Aunt May, and, from the laughter that followed, she'd met Johnny.

He barged into the dining room, eyes as wild as his hair, immediately catching both of their attention. Johnny glanced him up and down with a slightly amused quirk of his brow and lip, while Aunt May simpered pityingly at him.

"Peter!" She exclaimed, setting down the kettle and hurried over to tame his hair. "What's your rush?"

He gaped at her openly, eyes darting between her and Johnny, who'd turned away to stir at something sweet smelling on the stove. Distractedly, he noticed that he was wearing a fawn coloured cardigan with matching Hollywood trousers and a dark green tie. It looked good on him.

Turning back to Aunt May, who seemed much more cheerful this morning that she had last night, he stumbled over his words for a second, earning him a soothing pat on his lapel. After several attempts, he finally settled on, "I'm late for work."

May arched her brow, humoured, and shook her head.

"Peter... It's Christmas Eve."

His mouth popped open, and she laughed, giving him another pat.

"Why don't you go get dressed and join us for breakfast. Johnny was just telling me about how you helped him with his apartment last night."

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Why didn't you mention you were friends with a celebrity?"

"He's not that big of one," Peter muttered without thinking, and Johnny scowled over his pot, but didn't turn. Aunt May rolled her eyes and shooed him out of the kitchen, smiling as she joined Johnny at the stove. With nothing left to be done, Peter returned to his room to get a fresh set of clothes. When he saw himself in the grimy bathroom mirror, he grimaced. It was little wonder they'd seemed so amused.

After twenty minutes, Peter was back at the dining table, a mug of coffee in his hands and the inconspicuous sheets on his lap. Johnny was seated beside him, talking animatedly with his aunt about his interactions with a couple of movie stars Peter probably should've recognised the names of. His stance was easy, forearms propped on top of the table as he entertained his aunt's ceaseless questions, his hair folded in neat waves despite the lack of gel. Peter frowned into his mug.

"Have you tried the pancakes, Peter? Johnny's a surprisingly good cook."

"When you're forced into the Hollywood diet, you find ways around it." Johnny said with a chuckle, his blue eyes grazing Peter's before swiftly looking away.

He stabbed at the flat cake. It was good. He hated it.

"It was very nice of you to rush out to help Johnny with his move last night, Peter," his aunt said suddenly, and he looked to her, perplexed. "What has become of this city if people are burning down houses for fun?"

She shook her head, and Peter turned to Johnny, who shrugged subtly.

"Still," his aunt continued, "I think you owe Betty Brant a proper apology. Maybe take her out for lunch. At a proper restaurant."

Peter resisted the urge to groan at her conspicuousness, heat rising to his cheeks as Johnny hid a smile behind his cup. Of course he wasn't going to be let off so easily, but that did give him an idea.

"You're absolutely right, Aunt May," he said, suddenly standing. "In fact, I'm going to ask her right now."

May blinked at him, then frowned skeptically, but she couldn't very well accuse him of anything with Johnny sitting right there.

"Johnny, you're good with fashion, aren't you?" He grabbed for his arm, towing him up, "Help me pick a suit."

"Oh, right."

He smiled in perfect confusion at Aunt May, a better actor than Peter would have given him credit for, it appeared. Once they were out of the room, he released his arm and marched briskly back to his bedroom, signalling for Johnny to shut the door behind him.

"Okay."

Peter rounded on him instantly, his arms folded over his chest. "Explain."

Johnny slowly sat on the edge of his bed, as though afraid Peter might throw him off. It was a valid concern; Peter wasn't sure if he was going to fling him off the roof. His fingers tapped impatiently on his arm and the blond man sighed.

"You don't waste time, do you?"

"Make it quick. I want the whole truth."

"All right, all right." He leaned back on his arms, his head tilted back. There was quiet for a second, as he arranged his thoughts on the ceiling, then, with a sigh, he spoke.

"It's like I told you before. I wasn't lying about my parents or my aunt. It just wasn't anyone who took me in, it was Sue."

"She'd been sixteen at the time and had her own place. It was a shoddy, down-at-heel squat, but at least it was something. My aunt dialed her when she left me, but she wasn't home. It wasn't till nightfall when Sue eventually found me."

His eyes grew dark and he paused for a minute, lost in thought. When he was ready, he shook his head and pushed forward.

"She worked day and night for us, and put herself through an education. It's true that I used to work for the mechanic, too, until some film agency found me. Then it was cameras and glamour. It was the biggest break we'd gotten."

Peter had been listening in silence with his arms crossed the entire tale, but, now, he asked a question that had been bothering him for some time.

"Why'd you leave?"

Johnny snorted and allowed his head to fall forward, his chin hitting his chest.

"How kind of you to not assume it wasn't because I couldn't live without Sue. It wasn't. Not wholly, anyway."

He shook his head, a wry, twisted curl to his lips. Johnny's blues found his through his sunshine lashes, a coldness to them that matched his flat smile.

"I dressed up as a dame and fussed with a bloke at a bar, Peter. Why do you think?"

Peter frowned and observed him, his head tipping to one side. Fairies weren't an uncommon thing in New York, and he knew of several cabarets that enjoyed visits from all kinds of men and women. He'd even been to a couple as part of his work at the Bugle, and they never seemed too out of place or anymore bothered than any other night worker. In fact, after the Pansy Craze had hit, he'd thought them a favoured element of the city, an outlandish, prurient sort of attraction to lose oneself in for a night.

He opened his mouth to say just that, and Johnny's countenance hardened.

"Yes, everyone loves the drags and the homos, don't they?"

It wasn't a question, just a simple, absinthal fact. He shook his head, eyes lowered.

"They're good for a laugh, or a fantastical study of the weird, but once the sun rises, no one wants anything to do with them."

Johnny raised his head, looking at Peter with the same defiance he'd seen the first time they'd met, unyielding and too bold for his own good.

"Sissies are meant for the lower class and the 'other'. They're phases or periods of confusion in one's life, but they're not- they can't be- life. And in England? They can't even be that."

"I was a fool. So dizzy with him I didn't see it coming. Not until the letter came in."

He smiled at Peter, and a knife twisted in his stomach, more vicious than any wound he'd been inflicted physically.

"He was an up and coming leading man, and I had given the favour. I knew who people would listen to."

Johnny ran a hand through his hair, shrugging as he did. "So I left."

Peter was quiet, watching him as Johnny leaned forward, his shoulders slouching. An apology burned in his gut, but it felt empty, hollow. He coughed and made a gesture with his hands.

"What about your... Fire?"

He smiled, then stretched his fingers out like a flower, a bright flame appearing in his palm. Peter sucked in a breath, and watched, entranced, as he moved it around his fingers.

"I don't know much about it. It happened after the accident. It's part of what made me believe Sue and Reed were still alive."

"I'm not sure how far it extends, but I know I don't get burned and that I can create and absorb flames, but I have to expunge them in some way or it'll burn me inside out."

His fist closed, and the fire vanished. Peter nodded, then stated, "And you can fly. That's how you found me, isn't it?"

Johnny looked abashed, but he nodded.

"I am still a really good driver, though."

He hummed, then pulled his glasses off to wipe them as he grew lost in thought. If the Richardses had been affected the way Johnny had, that would explain how they'd survived the blast; but it also gave rise to a hundred more possibilities to where they'd been taken, and who'd taken them. His mind wandered back to the months prior, and the twisted experiments of a man who'd sought to create the perfect slaves for his own perverted sense of power. What sort of power would a person have if they gained control over two enhanced individuals?

Pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against, he handed the papers to Johnny.

"After the fire last night, I saw another set of writing appear. I think there's a hidden message."

He didn't have to explain further. Johnny's other hand erupted into a controlled bonfire, and he held the first paper up against it. For a while, nothing happened. Then, slowly, dark brown slanting letters began appearing over the blue, blotting them away.

"That's Sue's handwriting," Johnny said suddenly, as his eyes roamed over the page. He passed it to Peter, and picked up the next. Peter began reading it aloud.

_'30th October, 1934_

_Reed has done it, yet again! We've received funding from the state to begin trying to harness the abilities of the new molecules we've discovered. Its capacities remain unknown to us at present, but I'm confident that, soon, we will have opportunities presented to us as never before. Even Reed's stringent partner seemed interested. I don't know what he sees in him, but they've known each other for a long time and I don't want to interfere with that. In any case, the officials we'd spoken to are as excited for the possibilities as we are, and I cannot wait to begin.'_

_'12th November, 1934_

_Dr. Von Doom has been paying more and more attention to our work with the unstable molecules, as has the officials. Perhaps this should excite me, but, in truth, I am apprehensive. I know Von Doom has returned to his study of evolutionary progress and his obsession with "perfecting the human form" seems stronger than ever, despite his project being cut. I do not know how he expects to gain from our work, and Reed tells me I'm being paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling he's planning something.'_

_'22nd November, 1934_

_Work with the molecules is slow, but steady. Attempts to convert it into some kind of multipurpose cloth have been unsuccessful this far, but the higher ups remain optimistic. There is talk about using it for assistance in the military once it is perfected. I don't like the idea of it, but with talk of war beginning to rise, I doubt we will have much say in the matter.'_

_'5th December, 1934_

_We're almost there, I know it. I am unsure how I feel with the thought of it. On one hand, our discovery could help millions of people; relieve the need for various clothing types and different articles for different climates. On the other, the government seems keen on keeping it a secret, convinced that our enemies- whoever they may be- would find methods of extorting and perverting it. The way things look to me, the only people guilty of doing so are the officials themselves, but I cannot say it._

_Their obsession with the molecules is finally reaching Reed, too, and we'd spoken on canceling the entire thing, deeming it a failure. But the potential good it could do is too great, and I would not sacrifice it for our own fears._

_Von Doom has been speaking to Reed more often lately, hearing out his worries for the project. Apparently, his works in the fields of the medicinal sciences has finally reached some sort of capstone, and he is convinced that the molecules may be used to ease the biological process. I still do not understand the nature of his work, and he refuses to speak on it, but Ben has said that he seems more approachable of late, going into their departments to study their work as well. Perhaps I had judged him too harshly?_

_We will continue working on the molecules till we are satisfied with the results. I can only hope that it doesn't prove to be a mistake to do so.'_

Peter set down the final piece and turned to Johnny, who sat frozen in place. His hands were hiding his mouth, and a small furrow was between his brows, his eyes clenched. He opened them once Peter was quiet.

"I think it's obvious what to do next." He stated calmly, and Johnny nodded.

"Are you going to?"

He didn't need to contemplate the question. No matter his issues with Johnny Storm, no matter what had or had not transpired between them, this had grown disproportionately larger than the simple mystery of the Richardses disappearance. Mobsters, and now government officials and overzealous scientists had gotten involved. Crimes in the city were never simple, it seemed.

Meeting Johnny's eye, he nodded. They needed to speak with Ben Grimm.

~0~

They found Benjamin Grimm precisely where he shouldn't have been on Christmas Eve: working, at the Baxter Laboratory. When he heard the sounds of their footsteps, he stopped tightening the screws on the complicated machinery he'd been fussing over and turned around.

The wrench dropped with a ringing clang when he saw them.

"Johnny?" He rumbled, shocked.

Storm lifted his hand and gave a meek wave. Spider-Man dropped from above him, and the hulking mechanic took a step back, surprisingly salient eyes widening even further. Then, they narrowed and he bent to pick up the tool.

"Finally told him the truth, huh? Too bad he didn't knock some sense into you, too."

Johnny walked over to the amalgamation of wires and gears, studying it with a critical eye that made Grimm glower.

"I need to talk to you about Doom."

"This again? I told you to keep your nose out of it, Johnny."

He had a way of swallowing his words that made his words growl like a feral wolf. Peter frowned and moved a little closer. He knew Johnny said that Grimm wouldn't harm them, but people could change, especially once pressed.

"I can't, Ben. Sue's alive. They both are."

Grimm didn't respond, just closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths. Then, with a heavy sigh, he set the wrench down and turned to Johnny, his expression sympathetic.

"I get that you're grieving, kid. But you gotta let them go."

Johnny pointed at two strips of metal layered over each other with his thumb, his body angled to Grimm.

"You need these welded together?"

He looked confused at first, about to argue what appeared like Johnny changing the subject, but then he relented and snorted gruffly through his nose.

"You know it."

Unflinching, Johnny pressed his fingers over the seam of the two plates and waited. Within seconds, his finger was alight and the metal smoked.

"Wha- Johnny, your hand!"

Grimm made to grab for him, but Spider-Man stopped him with his palm, eyes never leaving Johnny. His sharp eyes darted between them both, narrowed in concern and fear that slowly morphed into awe when Johnny lifted his hand, blowing the flame away. The two silver sheets had become one.

"Oh, kid," Ben breathed as he stared at the thread of smoke coiling from Johnny's fingertip, "What happened to you?"

"I don't know." He locked his eyes with Grimm's, "But, whatever it is, I think it might have happened to Sue and Reed, too."

The mechanic looked between the two of them- a man who could walk on walls and another who had fire in his soul-, and sighed.

"Okay. Okay, let's talk."

Benjamin Grimm lead them inside the Baxter Building, the inside much more welcoming and inspiring in the light of day than it was at night. It was still empty as it had been the first time Peter had entered, but he could see now the variation between the doors and hallways, the slight alteration of colour and personal embellishments in each office. The floors were spotless, gleaming brilliantly in the sun, and they could see their warped reflections in the tiles.

The office Ben lead them into was small and cluttered, filled with photo frames and feats of robotics, a far cry from the stark professionalism of Dr. Von Doom's. A propped up frame on the tabletop caught Peter's attention, the polished wooden borders enclosing an immaculate photograph of Benjamin Grimm and what could only be a young Reed Richards. The pair made an odd coupling; Reed, a slender jigsaw of angles and aplomb, and Ben, a proud Hercules, unapologetic in his rowdy mien and toothy grin. Yet, even so, their camaraderie was clear to see, and it made Peter smile.

Ben sat heavily in his chair and gestured for the two to do the same, but he elected to remain standing.

"I don't really know how much I can help you. It's not like the doctor is very forthcoming about his work. He just comes in every so often to get me to build him something new."

"Containment facilities, right?" Johnny asked, fingers threading together.

Ben nodded, pushing his hand through his wiry brown hair.

"He never seems satisfied with what we make, always needing something sturdier and able to withstand unstable conditions. It's the weirdest thing."

"How long has this been going on for?" Spider-Man asked, leaning against the door.

"It started a couple days before Reed and Sue's accident, but it really kicked off after it. All of a sudden, he was down every couple of days, giving me blueprints and demanding things done."

Shaking his head, Ben leaned back in his chair, the springs creaking beneath his weight.

"That's not even the strangest thing. He's been making orders for some real 'spicious chemicals, and some green-eyed folk have been dropping by his office lately. You two not included."

"Gangsters?"

"Could be."

"The chambers you make for him... Where are they delivered to?" Peter asked, shifting forward on his toes.

"Same place as always. Some factory down East."

"Can you take us?"

The factory Ben lead them to was surprisingly well protected, the walls surrounding it topped with barbed wire and the doors reenforced steel. If Ben didn't have clearance into the area, Peter was sure even Spider-Man would have trouble entering it.

"I can't get you inside the building," Ben said regrettably as he pulled up at a shaded corner. The courtyard was empty, but there wasn't any harm in being particularly careful. "I usually just leave the tanks and go."

"That's fine. Thanks for all you've done, Mr. Grimm," Spider-Man said, stepping out and slamming the door shut behind him. Johnny did the same and walked over to Peter's side.

"Kid."

Johnny turned.

"Be careful."

He smiled and nodded, watching as Ben drove away, leaving them alone outside the towering fortress. Johnny nodded up at it, where one of the windows was left open and Spider-Man understood. They were up within minutes.

The inside of the warehouse was surprisingly clean for a place supposed to be unoccupied, but that wasn't what had surprised them.

There were locked steel doors at almost every wall, which were, in turn, covered in protective panelling and had chemical depository units stationed next to them. Lining the wall opposite them was a series of glass lockers, filled with laboratory equipment and attire. Rather than an abandoned factory, it seemed more like a military laboratory.

He heard a ring in his head before the footsteps reached him, and Spider-Man instinctively stepping in front of Johnny as Dr. Von Doom stepped into the light. The gauze that had been covering his face was gone, revealing the hard, deep scar that was carved from his eye down to his chin. Seeing them, the doctor smiled.

"Spider-Man. How nice it is to see you again."

He didn't seem concerned with their presence, instead removing his gloves and coat and dropping them carelessly into one of the bins. Curiously, he arched a brow at Johnny, whose arms were tense by his side.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?"

Johnny swallowed tight, and Peter could feel the heat radiate off him. Gently, he pressed his palm into his chest, holding him there.

"Where's my sister?"

Dr. Von Doom blinked, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Of course... You're Susan's brother. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Stop wasting time, Victor." He pushed past Spider-Man, who didn't follow, but kept his fingers at the ready should it come down to it.

"I know you've been getting chambers made for them, so I'm asking you one more time: Where's my sister?"

If he was at all perturbed by Johnny's accusation or fury, Doom hid it well. He stepped away from the wall and arched his brow at Johnny, glancing between the two of them.

"You think I've been keeping my partner and his wife in containment units? They're not animals, Jonathan."

Spider-Man moved forward slowly, his eyes studying Doom for any sign of attack. His Instinct had calmed since the doctor first entered the room, but that didn't explain why he was being so forthcoming with his information. He hadn't even attempted to deny Johnny's claim that he'd been holding the Richardses here, hadn't even seemed surprised that he knew. Something was up, but he couldn't think what.

"You are right that I had a hand in keeping them here, though. But you must believe me when I say it wasn't my fault."

Johnny gritted his teeth, biting back whatever he intended to say, and Doom's brows dipped to Spider-Man. He pointed at the jagged scar that ripped through his skin.

"See this? This is what happened when I tried to stop complying."

Spider-Man shook his head, his voice carefully even when he said, "I don't understand. Complying with whom?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Doom smiled again, but this time it was dark and morose. He gestured to the equipment around them, the humming of electricity and the metal alloyed ingresses.

"Facilities like this don't come from just anyone, even if you're part of the underground. No. A laboratory this protected could only come from the state."

"You expect us to believe that the government took Sue and Reed?" Johnny barked, his fists clenched so tight, Peter was afraid they'd bleed. "You're a fool."

Doom bristled at the insult, and Spider-Man shot him a warning glare.

"You can believe what you'd like, Storm. If you're too blind to accept what's clearly in front of you, then that's hardly any concern of mine."

"Sure, and I suppose it was a G-man who set fire to Magnolia Parks?"

"You can't be such a child to not realise that the mob only functions because the state lets it?"

"Enough distractions."

Spider-Man stepped between them, his eyes hard and cold.

"If you're really as guiltless as you claim, then tell us what you've been doing and where the Richardses are being held."

At that, Doom's lips curved and a shudder went up Peter's spine.

"Oh, I can do even better than tell you, Spider-Man. I can show you."

Every nerve in his body was telling him he shouldn't trust the doctor, but what choice did he have? Dr. Von Doom lead them down through an elevator that seemed to go much further than the laboratory allowed. An underground facility deep enough to bury a lifetime of secrets. Secrets that the doctor divulged as they descended.

"As you probably already know, Reed had discovered the existence of something he called the unstable molecule, which is exactly what it sounds like: a molecule capable of shifting and altering according to changes in its surroundings. Reed thought to use this to create a kind of multi functional cloth that would allow its users to be self sufficient with just one set of clothes. In these trying times, I suppose you could see how that would be ideal."

The elevator moved slowly, lights from the outside coming in in brief panels as they moved past floors of activity.

"But the people who was funding the project, they had different ideas. Ideas that they knew Reed would never agree with. And that, I'm afraid, is where I come in."

Johnny, who he'd thought to only be half listening, now turned sharply to look at the doctor, his eyes bright stars in the darkness.

"You see, I'd always been fascinated with the concept of improving the human physique. Improving it in ways that would give us superhuman capabilities, much like you have, Spider-Man. Unfortunately, my methods always proved too, ah... Experimental for the state's liking. That is until I discovered the creature."

"The creature?" Spider-Man echoed before he could stop himself, and Doom preened at the interest.

"Yes, the creature. It felt like fate. I came across it one night while I was working late at the laboratory. It had taken the shape of a cat, then, but it was stronger, faster than any regular feline. It was weakened then, and I managed to subdue it, but I knew it would regain its strength eventually. Before that, however, I was able to extract some of its fluids, which I believed held key to some of its abilities."

His frown deepened and, almost unconsciously, he reached up to brush the line going down his face.

"A good thing I did, too, because then they came and took it from me. The agents were determined to make a weapon from it, but I warned them of its difficulties. I had seen what had become of its last host, left a pulpy mess of blood and bone. They needed a way to harness its powers without allowing it to take from it's biological vehicle, a suit of some kind. And that's when they decided that Reed's molecules would be the perfect fit."

"It was a parasite?"

"It was _alive _. It could have given us plenty of its gifts if it were allowed to live, but those fools. They wanted to turn it into a living weapon. Pit it against future enemies and potentially lose it forever. I tried telling them of the serum, but they wouldn't believe me. So I proved it to them."

Doom's fingers curled, as did his lips. The elevator was reaching its final floors, but, suddenly, Spider-Man wasn't sure if he wanted it to. Inconspicuously, he signalled for Johnny to ready himself.

"I knew Reed was going to finish his solution at his home lab, the solution that would spell the end of the creature once the agents were aware of it. I couldn't let it happen, but I would never hurt my friend. So I did the opposite. I gave him a gift."

"You replaced one of their chemicals with the creature's serum." Spider-Man whispered, horrified. Beside him, Storm looked like he was going to be ill.

"Indeed, and it worked. When the agents arrived at their home, they found my partners gifted with new powers. I had expected it to grant them abilities like the creatures, but the chemicals must've reacted to one another and altered them. Still, they were alive, and improved."

"I thought that would be enough. Enough for the creature to be released back to me as fate intended, but I was wrong. They were infatuated with Reed's molecules, had the audacity to berate me for interfering. They said that the creature was unreliable. It killed all its hosts, and it needed to be contained. Something impenetrable, as the unstable molecule was thought to be, the earlier mission to use the creature be damned. Now that they had two super-powered individuals at their disposal, they didn't need it."

"They're going to use Sue and Reed as weapons?" Johnny asked, his voice barely louder than a breeze. The elevator was coming to a halt and every nerve in Peter's body felt like it was on fire. Doom ignored him.

"They wanted the entire thing covered up, couldn't let it reach the public. You can't believe how afraid they were when they heard Spider-Man was involved. But I knew better. The creature had told me things when we'd first met. Said it needed the appropriate host. Someone strong and genetically advanced."

The elevator doors parted and he heard the faint click of a button.

"Someone like Spider-Man."

His Instinct screamed.

~0~

Spider-Man leapt out of the way right as a black, gelatinous thing flung itself into the elevator, bright sharp teeth flashing as a woman's voice cried out from the outside. Johnny's head snapped up at the cry, racing after Spider-Man. Behind him, the elevator slammed shut.

"Sue?!"

"Johnny?"

Spider-Man webbed at the creature uselessly as it slipped between cracks and pursued him relentlessly, having to leap over shattered glass and empty containment units as he ran since there was nothing he could swing from. He was vaguely aware of Johnny frantically calling for his sister, whom neither of them could see, but was too occupied with slowing the thing down.

With a start, Spider-Man realised that the creature was talking to him.

"Why do you run from us?" A hissing voice asked, a rumble like thunder underlying it. "Only want to make us strong."

He flung one of the hefty cannisters at it, cursing as it seeped through like liquid. Suddenly, another voice, human and calm, was speaking to him.

"Spider-Man. I know it's difficult, but you have to stop fighting it."

Johnny swung around at the voice, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Reed?"

"Yes, Johnny. Sue's with me, too. She can't talk, she's concentrating."

"Concentrating- what? Where are you?"

"If you don't want me to fight it, what do I do?!"

Spider-Man leapt around a pillar, spitting web at the floor where the creature would traverse, but it went for the walls. He was about to shoot for there, too, but the creature abruptly reared back, screeching in pain as though it had been struck by something he couldn't see.

"Sue's manipulating the light rays in the room to momentarily render us undetectable by-"

"Invisible!" Yelled the lady, her voice strained and high. "We're invisible."

The creature stilled for a minute, and Peter thought it may have tired itself out. Then, it did a sudden turn and threw itself at Johnny.

"Not the only host," it declared in it's strange whistle of a voice, and Spider-Man yelled. In a second, Johnny was on fire and the creature screamed, rearing away and writhing for a moment. He heard someone gasp.

"Of course, Johnny was there that night, too," Reed said from somewhere near him as Spider-Man took the opportunity to web the black parasite up in a bundle of webs. He doubted it would hold, but it would have to do for now.

Suddenly, Reed's face appeared next to him, but his body was all the way across the room, his neck stretched impossibly long. It was only his quick reflexes that kept him from punching the doctor in the face. Beside Reed's body, crouched on the floor, was Susan Storm-Richards. Johnny was next to her in seconds.

"Sue, are you okay?!"

He threw his arms around her tight, and she embraced him in turn, a high, hysterical laugh escaping her. Spider-Man turned to the other doctor, his eyes narrowed and his breathing laboured.

"You said that I shouldn't fight it. Why?"

Reed's legs appeared below his head as his entire body stretched to come together, snapping like an elastic band. It was then that he noticed the strange one piece suit the doctor was wearing.

"The creature is sentient." Reed explained, eyeing the moving mass of webs warily as he spoke, "It calls itself Venom and it can be reasoned with. It's only looking for a way to keep itself alive, not to harm you."

Peter eyed the damage of the room and his frown deepened. "Could've fooled me."

"Spider-Man. It isn't from Earth."

That made him stare, and he wondered if the scientist may have been mocking him, but Dr. Richards appeared perfectly serious. From behind him, still holding onto one another, the Storm siblings made their way over, Dr. Susan wearing the same suit her husband was. With a start, Peter realised that Johnny was still on fire from the shoulders down, yet his flame did not burn her.

"Venom is trying to find its way home, back to its own planet," she supplied, her eyes as bright as her brother's, just a shade lighter. "We've been sneaking in here to try and help it without being found out, but it can be difficult."

"You mean bloodthirsty," Johnny supplied, turning to glance at the ripping webs.

"Yes, but I've never seen it react the way it did to your fire, Johnny," Sue explained, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, "I think it may be susceptible to the flames."

"So we have a way of cornering it, but we still can't transport it out without a host." Reed said, just as the creature- Venom, escaped from its confines. Immediately, it reared for them, but Johnny flung fire at it, just as Sue made an arc with her hand, an invisible force pushing it backward.

Venom hissed and shrieked, then threw itself against the walls hopelessly. A ring of fire burned around them, Johnny's eyes blazing in concentration.

"I can't keep this up for long. The oxygen will burn out. If I can't kill it, then we'd better come up with some ideas, quick."

Spider-Man could already feel the air thin, the coils of smoke not making it any easier. Suddenly, he turned to the doctors.

"Your suits. Are they made of unstable molecules?"

Reed blinked in surprise. "You know about them? We only finished the solution in here, and that, too, without anyone's knowledge."

"The agents once thought that the molecules could contain the Venom. What's the likelihood of that?"

Reed's eyes grew wide, then narrowed as he thought of the possibilities.

"If you could stretch around it-"

"So it only came into contact with the suit." He met Spider-Man's eye and nodded slowly, "It could work."

Susan stared at them both, her eyes widening in horror.

"The suit doesn't protect us from physical harm. Venom will rip right through you!"

"Not if we tire it out first."

Spider-Man leapt over Johnny's flame, running in the direction opposite of the creature. Cursing, Sue turned her and Reed invisible once again, and Johnny instantly began firing after Venom.

"It's too fast! I need you to corner it somehow!" Johnny yelled, soaring into the air.

Peter heard whistles as more invisible projectiles flew past him and after Venom, but it was getting smarter, dodging them. Spider-Man flipped his fingers, liquid silk smattering the walls behind him as Johnny set the floor below ablaze. Venom screeched, the webs barely slowing it down.

Swinging round the room, he heard Sue's laboured breaths. However her powers worked, it didn't sound like she'd be able to hold it up for long, especially not with the heat and fire. He had to figure out a way to end this, and soon.

His eyes darted wildly, trying to find something that would work, but neither glass nor metal seemed to be affecting Venom in the slightest. And the only person he seemed to be exhausting with his running about and jumping was himself, the creature just slid over walls and flooring seemingly without effort. The only chance they had was Johnny.

And that's when the answer hit him.

There was no time or method to explain himself to Johnny without the creature overhearing them; he had to take a leap of faith. He'd seen Johnny light partially on fire, his fingers, everything past his neck, but he didn't know how much control that took or how fast he could do it. If he was too quick, then Venom would realise their plan and they may not be able to come up with another. If he was too slow, then Peter would burn with the alien.

He'd wondered once, how he could trust him after everything that had transpired between them. In that moment, he found his answer: Quite easily.

"Johnny!"

Right as he turned, Peter threw himself off the wall, arms outstretched for the man burning like a star in the sky. The world around him seemed to slow as he came closer and closer to the flames, and he saw Johnny's pretty eyes, somehow still stubbornly blue beneath the field of yellow and red, widen. As he felt the heat lick at his fingers, his eyes slid shut.

Strong arms, warm and sturdy, caught him midair, then, with a shout, Johnny twisted them around, Venom slamming into him as his entire back went alight. A hideous scream ripped itself from the creature, and Peter heard Sue yell, "Now!" But he couldn't be worried with that because now he and Johnny were falling, propelled faster by the surging fire on his back.

Struggling his arm free, Spider-Man shot blindly for the ceiling. His arm jerked violently as his webbing wrenched them both up again, Johnny extinguishing his flames. Before they could careen painfully into the concrete overhead, Johnny twisted himself around Peter's back, freeing his limbs to plant into the roofing and stop their trajectory roughly.

Below them, Reed had his arm coiled into a ball around Venom, Sue slumped on his shoulder in exhaustion. They'd done it, but there was no telling how long until Venom awoke, or Von Doom returned with reenforcements. Even if he had gone against their wishes, he doubted anyone would have an issue with Von Doom bringing them another powered individual and Spider-Man.

As if on cue, the elevator slid open and a group of armed guards thundered in, convincers in each of their hands. Good. Gunmen, he knew how to deal with.

Johnny dropped from his shoulders, bursting into flame once more, and Peter followed suit. Reed scooped Sue up and moved them both to the side as Spider-Man and his partner began the end of it all.

"I thought you said they were down-"

Spider-Man caught him square in the jaw, webbing as many as he could together as Johnny disintegrated the bullets they fired midair.

"You were mistaken."

The few remaining hadn't lasted long, the searing metal of their guns forcing them to drop them as Johnny spun a ring of fire that prevented them from spreading out. Spider-Man had webbed them all together and pinned them to the wall.

As he descended to the ground, Spider-Man held his coat out for Johnny, making his eyes shine in a way that had very little to do with his ability to embody light. Peter turned his face to the side, a smile spreading across his mouth behind the mask, saying softly, "Later."

When they emerged outside, the sun had dipped low in the sky, and there were two military cars waiting for their men; but Sue had gathered the last of her energy and kept them all unseen as they walked calmly out. It was the easiest escape Spider-Man had ever made.

~0~

Deeming it necessary to find a more secure containment unit for Venom, they made their way back to Baxter Laboratories, Spider-Man carrying Sue and Johnny having Reed. To their utter surprise, Ben Grimm was waiting for them when they arrived.

His eyes grew saucer wide when he saw his old friend, and Peter swore he saw tears glisten at their corners before his heavy arms had been thrown around Reed, nearly crushing him in his grip. Sue beamed when he did the same to her, and Johnny yelped as he, too, was subjected to the painful embrace. Before Peter could object, Spider-Man was being hugged very tight and very long.

"I can't believe you're actually here, how-?"

"Later, old friend." Reed said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "For now, we have to get this in an impenetrable casket. I don't suppose...?"

"Oh, great. Now you're doing it too."

Johnny laughed, and it was the lightest Peter had ever heard it.

Ben lead them back to his usual work station beside the main building where his earlier project still stood. Plucking his way through the mess with surprising grace, he hefted a large glass unit, wires hanging from it precariously, atop his shoulders and set it down in front of Reed. Pressing a few buttons on the attached panel, the glass split into two, allowing access to the chamber.

"Go right ahead. It'll be nice to finally see what all this was for."

Carefully, Reed pulled his arm back into an ordinary length, unfurling it like a bandage as all of them, aside from the Richardses, tried not to stare.

Venom lay in a small pool of black at the crook of his elbow, the only sign that it wasn't a stain of ink the white stripes that covered its body and the sharp teeth that glinted in the light. Ben stared as Reed lowered it into the capsule, his mouth parted in confusion.

"That's what was so important to keep controlled? What is it?"

"Venom."

None of them reacted fast enough as Venom surged out of the container in a sudden burst of energy, latching itself onto Ben and seeping into his mouth, nose, and eyes. Johnny shouted and was about to release a burst of flame, but he was too late. Venom had vanished inside.

Ben collapsed to the ground, doubling in pain as the parasite coursed through his veins, Reed keeping all of them from him.

"No! You can't interfere with the bonding or it'll kill him!"

"It's killing him anyway!" Johnny yelled, struggling valiantly against Reed's elongated muscles. Reed shook his head relentlessly, panic shining in his eyes but the cognisant understanding of the process keeping him firm. As the jerking movements of Ben's body continued, they hung back, watching in horror until, slowly, his writhing form came to a halt.

There wasn't any motion, and Reed's arms fell away, his eyes glued to his friend's limp body. He was the first one by his side, his hands reaching, but too afraid to touch. How fitting was it that now he was the one to be left behind, to pick up the pieces of his life and try to stitch them together without such a crucial fragment?

Sue's hand found his shoulder and she knelt down beside him. Gently, her fingers brushed Ben's body.

And it sprung to life.

"Will not kill him," Venom's voice rumbled from Ben's mouth as he stood up, brushing the dirt from his trousers. "He is good. Right."

Johnny lurched forward, and Peter grabbed at his waist to hold him back, afraid of what contact might mean.

"Let go of him, you damned slug! If you hurt him, I swear-"

"_ Will not!"_

Venom's head reared out from Ben's, covering his face in ebony liquid and long, promisingly sharp teeth. Johnny fell backwards into Peter's chest in alarm, and Reed stared.

"Venom. You said he's 'right'," the doctor asked hesitantly, pulling himself to his feet, "Do you mean Ben's an adequate host?"

"Yes," hissed Venom, slinking back into Ben's body. "Good body. Strong. We will take care of it together."

"Where's Ben, then," Sue asked, standing tall and glaring at him, unafraid. Peter could see where Johnny got his resolve from now.

"I'm here, Sue."

The darkness vanished from his pupils, and there stood Ben Grimm as he usually was; slightly disoriented and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. It was Sue's turn to hug him impulsively, a soft, "Oh, thank God," escaping her.

Reed was watching him uncertainly, but it was more curious than suspicious.

"How do you feel, Ben?" He asked, gently resting a hand on his friend's arm.

"I feel fine."

"Hungry," declared Venom, disappearing as soon as he'd arrived. They all stared, and Ben shrugged.

"That's true."

He frowned, then said, seemingly to no one, "Hey, if you're gonna be rooming in there, could you find some other way of making yourself known? My mug's ugly enough without you jumping out all the time."

There was silence, then Ben reluctantly said, "Yeah, sure. I guess that's fine."

He held his arm out, and black seeped from his pores, accumulating until Venom as it had been in Reed's hold formed. It looked around at them, then stated once more, "Hungry."

~0~

Peter stood beside Johnny on the top of the Baxter Building, his masked pulled off so he could look at the stars twinkling in the night sky. He didn't say it, but, somehow, they all seemed dull compared to the radiance Johnny emitted, both with and without the flames. For several moments, neither of them uttered a word, afraid of what would follow.

"Thank you," Johnny said finally, turning to look at him with a soft smile. "For finding them."

Peter met his gaze evenly, his pupils studying his face, trying to commit it to memory. In the building below, the Richardses were conducting tests on Ben, ensuring that he was as hale as he claimed to be.

They knew that there wasn't a possibility of anything being done about what they had gone through, not with government agents directly being involved, but that didn't mean they intended to step back in silence. With Susan and Reed Richards seemingly returned from the grave, the inability to take action went both ways. Nobody was going to turn a blind eye if they were harmed so soon after their return, especially not when the truth came to be known.

"The world is changing around us as we speak," Reed had said solemnly over dinner, "Its now filled with people with extraordinary abilities and gifts, some using it for harm, and others fighting them from the shadows."

He'd met Spider-Man's gaze with a faint smile.

"Maybe it's time someone was there in the light."

They weren't certain what had become of Dr. Von Doom, but Peter didn't think that they'd be seeing him anytime soon. Men like that had a tendency of disappearing, whether or not it was of their own volition. He wasn't going to miss him if they never met again.

Johnny hadn't said a word when Reed was discussing his plans for revealing themselves as heroes to the city and remodelling the Baxter Laboratory into a sort of headquarter for them. Honestly, Peter wasn't sure if he'd even heard a word throughout dinner; he'd been mute.

"What do you plan to do now?" He asked, looking out into the horrible, fantastic glittering city, sparkling like a handful of gems. It was suddenly very difficult to look at the man next to him, the thought of being separate weighing heavy on him in a way that scared him.

Johnny hummed and lifted his shoulders, imitating his stand.

"I don't know. There isn't much of a choice for Sue and Reed. They were thought dead. But nobody really knows what happened to Johnny Storm in all that time."

He did, Peter thought. He'd come to know all about Johnny Storm, and, now that he might come to lose him, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with all the emotions that came from knowing him. He turned to face him once more, breathing in the sight of him and clasping it close to his chest. If they weren't ever going to meet again, he might as well throw caution to the wind.

"You remember how, in the alley, you told me that I didn't know you at all?"

Johnny's eyes found his face, a slight quirk to his eyebrow and a flush to his cheeks that Peter knew wasn't his imagination.

"Yeah? What about it?"

He shrugged, and took a step closer. Johnny's breath stuttered and Peter felt courage well up in his chest, burning like a furnace.

"Well, I was just thinking that I know you now."

Lifting his hands, he rested them on the buttons of his double breasted coat, brown eyes searching Johnny's blues.

"The only question left is, Johnny, do you know me?"

For a moment, the Earth was still; just him and Johnny looking into each other's eyes, seeing the same thing but refusing to believe. It was too simple, too easy to lean in and give in to what they both wanted, but, at the same time, it was the most frightening thing in the world.

Yet Peter was no coward, and, slowly, he breached the space between them till there was almost nothing separating them. Through half lidded eyes, he met Johnny's gaze, and he knew he'd found truth.

Johnny's lips on his were soft, even when they pressed with an intensity and hunger that left him breathless. His fingers wound through his daffodil curls, and his arm found his waist, but, even then, the only thought he could think was how delicate his mouth was, how exquisite his taste.

Peter wanted more. He was sure a part of him would always want more.

When they pulled away, they were both gasping for air, but it was still too soon. He rested his forehead against Johnny's and stared into those beautiful blue eyes that had never failed to mesmerize him. He felt intoxicated, but his mind had never been clearer. Quietly, he laughed, stealing the breath from Johnny's lungs, delighting in his smile. He threaded their fingers together, holding tight to his warm light in the winter night.

"You told me that this couldn't be life," he murmured, still not pulling away, "Neither is dressing up in a coat and hat and fighting crime at night."

Johnny studied him from beneath his lashes, a faint smile on his lips that Peter wanted to kiss wider.

"What are you asking me, Dick Spider?"

He leaned back, just far enough to look at him properly, honestly.

"I'm asking you to be my partner. I'm asking you to stay."

Slowly, even without Peter's lips meeting his again, the smile Johnny wore grew brighter and a soft chuckle slipped past them.

"As if you could be rid of me so easily."

There was so much ahead that he knew so little of, so many doubts and changes that could save the city just as equally as it could break it; but, for a single, perfect moment, it was only him and Johnny Storm, lost in each other atop a crystal tower as snow fell around them. And, for that night, and all the nights to come, it was enough.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you so much for reading this mess of a fic! It took me a very long time to write it, especially because I know so little of Marvel, but I had a lot of fun doing it. I hope you enjoyed it.

Stay tuned for the thrilling sequel that takes place after Spider-Verse:

A 2k long dialogue between all the Spider-Men (excluding Peni) discussing how much of a euphemism "Sometimes I let matches burn down to my fingers just to feel something" is.


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